Illusion of History
by devotedmuse
Summary: Ask the Joker about his life and he'll say, "What's past is prologue," and leave it at that. Yet when a ghost emerges from the catacombs primarily one, Gabrielle Danis, he'll tell you to find a blank page, title it Chapter One, and enjoy the ride.
1. Good Morning Heartache

**Author's Note:** As with my other Joker fanfic A Siren's Call, you can expect lots of detail, long chapters, and a romance with a truly romantic feel. Not to mention violence, murder, and intrigue, because it wouldn't be a Joker fic if we didn't get our gloves bloodied from time to time. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Good Morning Heartache**

Fate has a strange way of bringing people together. Generally, it's a chance encounter, a sort of divine accident—and a beautiful one at that—which makes the past and present collide. However, in the Joker's case, it was anything but. In fact, it was cold-blooded murder that brought the ghosts of his past surging back to life.

Tucked into the dark entryway of a neighboring brownstone was the Joker. Peering over the brick townhouse before him with dark amber eyes, he gripped an umbrella tightly in his hand, his leather glove squeaking in protest. Swiftly his gaze traveled across the street, up the steps to the front door, and like the vines that covered the house, darted over to the left, trailing along the windowsill.

Not once in their time spent apart did he ever think he would see her again.

While fate is often tested by him and hope something he lacked, if you were to put it to him in the form of a question and you asked, 'Are you pleased to see her?' If he were feeling inclined to answer, right before he pulled the trigger, he would give an emphatic, 'Yes.' And while you would be dead he would still be rooted in place, peering through the falling rain at one disconsolate beauty, willing her to lift her head so that he could stare into her eyes just _one more time._

As though answering his silent plea Gabrielle Danis raised her head. For a brief moment, the Joker entertained the idea that she was not staring blindly through the window, but looking directly into his eyes.

"How sinfully _intoxicating_ ," he breathed, his natural deep vibrato wasted on the falling rain.

Tragedy was a thing of immense beauty in his eyes and her grief hit him like a wave of pure ecstasy.

Despite the heavy rain, he could easily detect the sorrow in her dark chocolate orbs as she stared wistfully through her black birdcage veil and cap. With longing eyes, he took her in piece by piece, setting fire to the old image and replacing it with the new. Flames erupted from his amber eyed gaze and flickered over her person, traveling across her oval face, dark almond-shaped eyes, straight nose, and a full mouth that was painted a deep, dark red. The intense red of her lips highlighted the natural blush to her cheeks and complimented her smooth, caramel brown skin.

When a tear escaped and her lips pressed together to hold back a sob, something in him stirred.

Gabrielle stared through the glass from her spot on the window seat unable to focus. Every second that passed brought a loving memory to the forefront of her mind: a soft smile, warm hug, a kind word, the sound of laughter...

So consumed was she by thoughts of her grandmother that she didn't feel the quickening of her heartbeat. Soon it took to pounding like a thundering drum and with a gasp, she pressed a hand to her chest. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe. Pressing deeper into the pillow at her back she allowed her eyes to flutter closed and concentrated on her breathing.

In the back of her mind, she wondered: how can it hurt so much? Everywhere she looked she saw her grandmother, even in the comfort and solitude of her own home. Turning her head to the left she looked out across her living room, the corners of her mouth tilting upward as she remembered arguing about the choice of paint and fabric.

...

 _The old woman's graying brown hair was pulled back into a low bun when a few wisps fell into her eyes she brushed it back and pushed her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. Slowly she turned in a circle, lips pressed firmly together with a look on her face that read: for shame!_

" _I don't understand why you can't just choose one color, Gabby! This is just too much baby," Helen said motioning to the paint can at her feet before placing her hands on her hips._

 _Gabrielle chuckled as she tossed a purple ikat patterned pillow onto a marigold wingback settee. "It will turn out fine, granny," she told her, holding back a grin when Helen looked at her as though she sprouted a second head._

 _Spying the three different cans of paint, Helen made a clucking sound with her tongue that made her granddaughter laugh harder. It was her grandmother's way of saying, Oh no the hell it won't! But much to Gabrielle's pleasure, and her grandmother's immense surprise, it all came together exquisitely._

 _..._

You must be wondering what design could make an old woman want to knock some sense into her grandbaby. Allow me to tell you. To complement the marigold settee, the ceiling and crown molding had been painted white and simply popped as the walls themselves were painted a deep, rich burgundy. At the head of the room was a black marble fireplace and mantle with a copy of Gustav Klimt's _The Kiss_ directly above it. Shelving had been carved into the wall on either side with a white and black imperial trellis background. The shelving unit housed books, photographs, and a silver statue of an elephant as Gabrielle adored them. But you couldn't see the elephant now.

Biting her lower lip Gabrielle's eyes wondered over the dozens of floral arrangements in her home. They covered the opening of the fireplace, shelves, and mantle threatening to even block _The Kiss_ from sight.

Not all of the flowers were from loved ones. Many of them were from fans—Gabrielle's not her grandmothers—and had been brought over by her agent. As a famous author news spread quickly of her tragedy and everyone who loved her work paid their respects. While it was no doubt touching it was just... too much.

If you haven't yet lost a loved one, then there's no way to explain the feeling of just wanting to be left alone, to sit in the stillness of a quiet room and remember better days and to weep once remembrance was found.

The heels of her black pumps clicked rhythmically across the dark hardwood floor as she made her way to the sofa. Tears stung her eyes as she ran her fingertips over the violet sweater draped across the back; bringing it to her face she breathed in deep. Fresh lavender and warm vanilla tickling her nose. At the lingering scent, her knees buckled and her black taffeta dress billowed out around her.

Catching herself she choked on a sob, nearly stumbling as she took her next step. Kicking off her shoes Gabrielle molded into the corner of the sofa and with trembling fingers removed the veil and cap from her face, tossing it onto the mahogany square coffee table without a second glance. Lying down on the sofa she stared up at the large metal prism chandelier and fingered the soft cotton material of the violet sweater.

Without warning, a floodgate of emotion surged forth.

Helen Love had been everything to Gabrielle, acting as both parent and grandmother when her own had passed when she was just a babe. And they had been close; doing everything together because they enjoyed each other's company. Though sadly now all of that was gone. The laughter and the joy, overnight stays that carried into the week ahead, and the love that was felt in a warm embrace, all of that and more was taken from Gabrielle due to one senseless act of violence.

As tragic as her death was Gabrielle's guilt of not being there to protect her was positively heart-wrenching. So distressing were her thoughts that she wrapped her arms around her middle and wailed. _If only I had gone with her,_ she screamed in her mind _, maybe then she would still be alive._

Truth be told Helen was a firm believer that there was always something to do and people to see. It was with this belief that she went downtown to visit a friend and lost her life. Gabrielle could not foretell such an outcome and with her deadline to her latest book vast approaching her grandmother wouldn't have dared to interrupt her. So what could have been done? Nothing. Gabrielle, like all of us, is not the master of fate.

All eyewitnesses stated that Helen complied, that she gave the thief her purse without so much as a moment's hesitation or hint of a struggle. Yet once the purse was in his possession he cocked back the shotgun and fired. A few witnesses said he had gone so far to as laugh when she fell.

Now mind you I said laugh, not _cackle._ No, the owner of a certain telltale cackle was completely innocent and making his way across the street.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Startled Gabrielle sat up and choked on a sob. When she realized it was just the door she flopped back down not wanting to deal with any more visitors.

 _Knock._ Knock. **Knock.**

Dark brown eyes glowered at the ceiling. Swallowing back her cries and a curse, she left her haven, bare feet padding across the hardwood floor, seeming to echo within the void of her heart.

"Just a minute!" She called stepping into the foyer.

Pausing beside the door, she stared into a large oval mirror. Tragedy showed clearly on her visage. How long had she been crying? Minutes or hours? Whatever it was her face was now flushed, eyes puffy, nose tinged red, and her cheeks puffed out like a balloon. Making herself as presentable as possible she wiped at her tear-stained cheeks, smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress, and ran her fingers through her short black curls. Taking a deep breath, she vowed that this would be the last visitor and that when she was done she would go upstairs and cry. Saying a quick prayer for courage, she turned the knob.

Gabrielle came face to purple umbrella. Taken back, she blinked startled. Forced to do so she took her visitor in from the ground up. The man, whoever he was, was wearing dark purple wingtips and black pinstripe pants. As the umbrella rose so did her inspection of him to reveal: a black and white checkered vest, pocket watch chain, a silk purple tie, one crisp white shirt, and a lapel pin that was a series of playing cards molded into a flower with a skull in its center.

Brow furrowed Gabriel parted her lips to speak and was cut off for the umbrella had lifted completely to reveal his face.

"You know," the Joker began smoothly, dark amber eyes flickering like a flame, "they say the quickest way to get over your grief is to take a shot of _Jack_!

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	2. Interjections, Games, and Illusions

**Author's Note:** Enjoy this latest chapter!

* * *

 **Interjections, Games, and Illusions**

" _You know," The Joker began smoothly, dark amber eyes flickering like a flame, "they say the quickest way to get over your grief is to take a shot of Jack!"_

Time stood still and sound faded away into oblivion as Gabrielle stood motionless and wide-eyed, staring into the face of her past, not believing in the true tangibility of the image before her. For the span of a single heartbeat, she denied the man and then his eyes flickered. All at once she was assailed by a plethora of senses the aroma of wet leaves, moss, and sandalwood—the last which she assumed to be his cologne—which tickled her nose, pain radiated from her hand due to gripping the doorknob too tight, and then there was the thundering of drums in her ears. Was it the pounding of rain on the asphalt or her heart slamming rhythmically in her chest, she didn't know.

Misty eyes peered over his dark blonde waves, shifting over to the strong jawline and the cut in his lower lip, before darting over to either scar. _He still has them._ Blinking back her tears she met his gaze; tiny flecks of gold glittered in their depths and she took a step back staggered.

Straightening to his full height the Joker, or Jack as he allows her to call him, swallowed hard and licked his lips. Shock and trepidation graced her features and he cursed himself. _What the hell am I doing here?_ Even as he asked himself the question he already knew the answer: he just... wanted to see her.

"Jack?" she whispered in disbelief, brown eyes as wide as saucers.

At the sound of her honeyed voice, a shiver of pleasure ran down his spine and he bit down hard on his scars. Had it always been this way, did she always have such an effect on him, or was it merely due to the time lost between them? Staring into her dark chocolate eyes, he felt heat pool in his stomach. It had always been this way.

"The one and only, sweetheart," he said with a smile.

Without warning, Gabrielle threw herself into his arms causing him to grunt on impact. Burying her face into the crook of his neck, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, lips dangerously close to his flesh. "I can't believe it," she breathed.

The umbrella clattered to the ground. Without hesitation, he wound an arm around her waist and snaked one dark purple glove through her curls. Cradling the back of her skull he pulled her in closer, pressing the side of his face into her hair, breathing in the fruity scent of her shampoo.

Instantly he felt a change: heat soared through him and his heart stopped and constricted painfully, only to lessen bit by bit as a new rhythm was found. All at once he became warm and giddy yet nauseous and winded; it was thoroughly exhilarating and he closed his eyes, marveling at the sensations that coursed through him.

"I can't believe it," she murmured once more, trying her best to hold back her tears.

"It's me," he confirmed with a tight squeeze.

Pulling herself out of his arms she ran her gaze over him. At twenty-eight, he was only three months her senior. And though creases formed in his brow and crinkles lined the corners of his eyes, there was a youthfulness to him. "How long has it been since the last time I've seen you, Jack? Five years?"

"Only if you're counting." Truth be told they both were.

Gabrielle bit her lip, nodding slightly at his words. "I'm sorry," she apologized when a tear escaped. "I'm just so surprised to see you." Stepping back inside she bid him enter. "Come on, Joker," she teased, referring to his childhood nickname, "let's get you out of the rain."

Jack's eyes lit up like a firecracker and he grinned devilishly. _If only you knew how much I grew into it._

Retrieving his umbrella from the steps, he shook it out and closed it. Gabrielle immediately held out her hand and took it from him. "I have something for you," he sang, causing her to smile at his merry tone.

"What's that?" She called over her shoulder, tossing his umbrella into the holder by the door. _Still in love with the color purple._

Dark red lips parted as she gazed upon the magnificent floral arrangement. Gathered together in a tall crystal trumpet vase were lush greens, white orchids, calla lilies, roses, and lisianthus, along with the illustrious Finesse rose in _lilac_. It was positively breathtaking.

Unable to help herself she extended her arm, fingertips running over the silky petals of a Finesse rose. "It's beautiful," she commented, inhaling the flowers sweet fragrance.

"I knew you would approve," he boasted from behind the arrangement as he stepped inside. "Lilac and white were Helen's favorite colors and roses and lisianthus her favorite flowers. As for _you_ ," he purred, "you're fond of lilies and orchids." Jack gave her a wide smile, revealing straight white teeth and two dimples, one at the end of either scar. "In a way, it's for the both of you."

In the vast sea of flowers that adorned her home that was gifted from friends and family, none of them were correct in terms of color or flower. But he remembered, even after all this time. It would be an understatement to say his act touched her heart, why it was practically soaring.

"So how did you know where I lived?" She inquired slightly breathless, closing the door behind him.

"After I heard about what happened I made a few calls," he answered looking over her home, taking in every entry, exit, window, and door as he noted the high ceilings, dark floors, and white walls. "I came into contact with Reggie and..."

"Say no more," she commanded with a wave of her hand. Reginald, or Reggie as he preferred to be called, was her cousin and a menace. A mechanic by trade he was the go-to guy for information. It didn't matter what it was stocks, gossip, fixed fights, deals or personal information, if you wanted to know something, he had the answer. Gabrielle simply said a small prayer that it was Jack who had been given her address and not a mass murderer. If she only knew, right?

When she turned around her dress twirled about her form and Jack's eyes immediately roamed over her body, burning everything in sight. Though modest, her long sleeved dress molded to her frame beautifully showcasing her full breasts, tiny waist, and the smooth flair of her hips. Clenching his jaw tight, he stared at her shapely legs for a moment and quickly raised his gaze to hers. She was none the wiser.

"You can place the flowers on the table over there," she directed, pointing to a circular table that housed two white candles and a picture of her grandmother.

"How long have you been in Gotham?" he asked staring at the picture of Helen as he placed the arrangement on the table. While he walked a fine line between high states of bliss and severe emotional detachment, he had truly admired the woman; she was the only one not afraid to put him in his place.

"Going on six months now," she replied stepping over to the table. "I moved to be closer to my agent and, of course, my grandma came with me. I couldn't have her staying in that big house in L.A. all alone." She stared at the picture for a moment, fingertips making small circles along the surface of the table. _Maybe it would have been best if she stayed._

Without warning, he gripped her chin turning her head sharply to face him. Taken back by his action she gasped in surprise. It was by instinct that her hand flew to his wrist in order to pull it away, but something in his gaze stilled her. When she opened her mouth to speak twin flames flickered in their depths and she promptly snapped her mouth shut.

Holding her gaze, he continued to grip her chin in one hand, and with the other, wiped away her tears. She wasn't even aware that she had been crying. Cupping her face with a strong hand, he gently ran his thumb back and forth across her cheek, the action soothing and not at all unpleasant.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Brie," he spoke softly, his deep voice washing over her in waves as he stared deep into her eyes. "Helen was a remarkable woman, who always wanted the best for her family and performed all her actions out of love. I will always be thankful for having known her."

Gabrielle's bottom lip trembled and she blinked furiously, desperately trying to hold back her tears.

Staring into the dark pools of her eyes, he came to the startling realization that while her grief still captivated him, he would much rather have her laughter. A twinkle appeared in his eye and he continued saying, "I will also relish the fact that she carried a switch that could never be broken and possessed the ability to hit any and all moving targets with a shoe. Trust me when I say that her speed and precision will be greatly missed," he affirmed with a solemn nod.

A moment of silence passed between them and he thought she had forgotten. She didn't.

"Hahaha!" Her rich, throaty laughter caused him to grin and his eyes sparkling like the dawn.

So vividly could she recall Jack stomping down her grandmother's front porch, muttering a sassy comment, only to be smacked upside the head by a tasseled loafer seconds later. "Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, laughing so hard her sides hurt. Pitching forward she rested her face on his chest, shoulders shaking as she continued to laugh.

When she pulled back her eyes no longer pools, but a glittering night sky. "Remember when she threw it so hard that you fell down the steps!"

His grin fell. Releasing her with a playful snarl, he rolled his eyes heavenward and gave a loud smack of his lips. "It wasn't that hard," he snickered, hand inching up to the back of his head as if reliving the moment. "And I lost my footing on my own, thank you very much," he affirmed with a curt nod, making her laugh even harder.

"Really?" He said seconds later when she snorted.

Gabrielle clamped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to stop. It was futile. All she could see in her mind were dirty blonde curls flying in the air as he let out a loud, 'Dammit, Helen!' and went tumbling down the steps. He then proceeded to hightail it across the yard when the porch screen slammed open and the infamous switch smacked against the wooden railing.

"Go ahead, laugh at my expense. It doesn't hurt."

Chuckling low in her throat she wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," he countered, not offended in the slightest.

"You're right," she said giving him a saucy grin. "I'm not the least bit apologetic." Wiping at her eyes, she bit back another giggle when he placed a hand over his heart as though wounded.

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Curtis lives in the area. He showed me around Gotham when I first arrived. If you want, I can give you his number. I'm sure your partner in crime would love to hear from you." Amber eyes flashed savagely. "I would like that," he replied, smiling so wide that he thought his scars would pop open.

Gabrielle beamed up at him. "Wonderful. Let me write it down for you so I don't forget."

When she disappeared into the living room Jack abruptly lost his smile. "You're a dead man Curtis," he seethed, eyes narrowing into slits.

Curtis Wechsler was Gabrielle's eldest cousin, Jack's best friend, and like she said, his partner in crime. Just the simple fact that she had been living in Gotham around the same time as he and that Curtis had known made his temper soar. Growling low in his throat he clenched his hands gloved hands into tight fists. Oh, he was going to have a nice little chat with Curtis. Hearing footsteps, he pushed his rising anger aside and schooled his features.

Gabrielle emerged from the living room with a slip of paper in her hand. "Here you go," she said handing it to him. "I wrote my number as well," she informed with a small smile.

"Thank you. I'll be sure to give him a ring," he announced eyes flashing. _I'm going to wring his..._

"Have you been in Gotham long?" she inquired walking down the corridor and interrupting his thoughts.

"Not really," he lied smoothly, silently admiring the gentle sway of her hips. "I came on business and stayed for pleasure," he continued honest, purple wingtips clicking against the hardwood floor as he followed her.

Gabrielle paused and peered at him over her shoulder. "Are you still part of the-?"

"No," he interrupted more harshly than he intended making her eyes widen. "No," he repeated much softer. "I was honorably discharged."

Gabrielle's eyes flickered over to his scars and the corners of her mouth turned down as she remembered that night. "I didn't mean to bring it up. I simply forgot."

"It's okay," he stated with a wave of his hand. "It's in the past."

Nodding her head, she continued on. "What do you do now?"

"Unexploded Ordnance Technician," he answered without missing a beat, his gaze running over the pictures that lined the halls. "I travel across the US and other parts of the world and disable bombs, shells, and missiles." Gabrielle couldn't believe it, he simply traded one dangerous profession for another. "I'm glad you found something you enjoy." Even though her voice was even he could still detect the concern and his stomach clenched. Why such a thing bothered him he'll never know.

"Are you hungry or thirsty? I could make you some coffee," she offered, entering the kitchen.

"Coffee would be fine."

As they stepped inside soft gray light filtered through the windows that overlooked the city, causing copper pots to glow, appliances to gleam, and shadows to dance across the furnishings. While the hardwood floor continued the kitchen itself had high white ceilings and was Victorian in design, possessing high shaker-style cabinetry that was painted over in a deep forest pine. The highest level of cabinets was glass, exposing crystal stemware and white china. White knobs popped against beaded-board backsplashes, in the same shade of green as the cabinets, and black granite countertops toned down the room keeping it from being too frumpy, giving it instead a warm, homey feel.

"I believe your house is haunted," Jack proclaimed, humor in his tone and a hint of a smile on his lips. In the middle of the floor, a small mound lay hidden underneath a blanket depicting an image of the Millennium Falcon. _Nerd_.

"Oh, Biscuit," Gabrielle chided lovingly. Moving toward the mound, she lifted the blanket to reveal one incredibly wrinkly, and utterly adorable English Bulldog puppy. His coat was predominately white with a small brindle patch over his left eye and two on his back. Rubbing his soft fur, she scratched behind his ears causing him to awake with a wide yawn.

Sleepy yet warm brown eyes found his mistress and he immediately sat up, stretching to nudge Gabrielle's face. Returning his sentiment, she gifted him with a kiss. As she pulled back a dark red imprint of her lips graced Biscuit's forehead and she laughed gleefully. "Jack," she giggled. "I'd like you to meet the best little Bully in existence, Biscuit O'Connor, though he goes by Biscuit for short." Biscuit stood to his full height, which wasn't much, and barked proudly in agreement.

"Woof, woof to you too, Biscuit," Jack drawled with a smile plastered on his face as he peered down at the duo.

The minute Biscuit saw the Millennium Falcon taking off without him he barked in protest and dove for the edge of his blanket. He would have made it, but Jack was faster. "Easy little man," Jack cautioned when Biscuit squirmed in his arms, attempting to test gravity by trying to soar toward his blanket. "You'll get your ship," he promised, "though you might want to work those eyes of yours to receive the Death Star instead." Though he would be loathed to admit it Jack was as much of a nerd as she was.

"Give me a minute while I put this in the wash."

As she moved past them Biscuit growled low in his throat at Gabrielle. He promptly lost his anger and yelped when Jack tugged on his ear. "Be nice," he commanded firmly, softening the blow by rubbing gently once more. Pet or not, Jack wasn't going to allow anyone or _anything_ to disrespect her.

Gabrielle walked briskly down the hall to the laundry room and tossed Biscuits blanket inside the washing machine. When it started she searched for the doggie wipes to clean her lipstick from Biscuits face and realized they were upstairs.

Jack's eyebrow rose to his hairline when she darted past the kitchen entrance. "Just a minute," she called over her shoulder. "You said one minute three minutes ago," he teased. She ducked her head back in arching a delicate black brow. "Then be patient and wait longer," she instructed, voice lowering naturally and become sultry.

Amber eyes soared to life, a slow, sexy grin appearing on his lips. "I'll be sure to do as you've instructed."

* * *

Outside the rain picked up and blurred the image of the city before him.

Jack stared through the window, eyes rooted to the murky gray light, watching with rapt fascination the raindrops that clung to the glass, along with the silhouettes of the buildings with their besmirched colors in the distance. The view itself was dark and moody, bringing with it a chill that made goosebumps appear on his skin. _How magnificent_ , he mused to himself. Dark blonde waves fell over his face as he tilted his head to the side and he raked them back not wanting the image before him to be disturbed.

Stepping into the kitchen, Gabrielle stopped dead in her tracks, her apology dying on her lips. Half his body was angled toward her as he stared out the window, the light casting shadows to play upon his features, making him appear enigmatic and very, very handsome.

Unable to help herself, she peered over him, eyes growing darker with every second that passed. He had removed both his gloves and jacket and had cuffed his shirt up to his elbows, revealing broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and tanned muscular forearms. Only when she felt her cheeks heat up did she force herself to look away.

"I see you started the coffee," she called stating the obvious; she could smell its earthy aroma from upstairs.

"I did," he affirmed turning his attention to her.

The corners of his mouth turned down when he saw that she had removed her makeup and taking with it the dark red lipstick. But the feeling was temporary. The minute the lights from the kitchen hit her freshly scrubbed skin, it ignited the natural red blush of her cheeks, complimenting her caramel complexion and he licked his lips, loving what he saw.

"I, uh," he coughed to clear his throat. "I tried to adhere to your command, but after a few minutes I decided to make myself useful."

Gabrielle twirled a curl around her finger, ducking her head in embarrassment at how long she must have taken in total. "Thank you," she returned sincerely, the blush on her cheeks deepening.

"You're more than welcome," he drawled, grinning at her discomfort.

When she spied Biscuit propped on top of the island eating one homemade doggie treat she vowed to be better at time management.

Placing the wipes on the counter, she removed the small black throw she had under her arm and tucked it around him. It was greatly appreciated and Biscuit paused in the middle of his snack to nudge her face.

Jack tread leisurely across the floor, wingtips clicking with every step he took. Gabrielle raised her eyes from Biscuit to his and her breath hitched in the back of her throat. Jack's eyes were shimmering and for a brief moment, just a second, she glimpsed a deep-seated longing in their depths. But just as quickly as it appeared it was gone.

As he moved around the island she peered at him from the corner of her eye, glimpsing peacock and indigo trellis suspenders from his opened waistcoat. Swallowing hard, she focused her attention on Biscuit. _It's just the dusty remnants of a crush,_ she told herself when she felt her face heat up and her heart pound. _He's never felt that... way... about me._

Oh, but he has.

Leaning into the island at her side, he allowed his gaze to sweep of her lovingly, wanting everything he saw. For years he felt… Shaking his head, he pushed back his thoughts. This was their first meeting after a five-year absence and he needed to take his time.

Just about finished removing her lipstick from Biscuits coat, she heard an all too familiar sound: the Tardis. Pausing in her ministrations, she peered over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow. Jack was perched upon the countertop with the cookie jar in his hands.

"I just wanted to see if it was bigger on the inside," he stated with a sheepish smile. She merely rolled her eyes heavenward and turned around.

Seconds later he moaned, causing her to snap her head back in shock. Jack merely held up an oatmeal raisin cookie in defense. "Scrumptious," he declared honest. "Positively delectable," he purred giving her a wink as he took another bite. Gabrielle blinked hard and looked away.

"Tell me something, Jack," she began, still wiping at Biscuits face while Jack took a seat across from her. "What have you been up these past five years? I always assumed that you were still on active duty." Realizing what she said, she raised apologetic eyes to him.

Glimpsing the anxiety on her face he gave her a reassuring smile. "The last time you saw me I was on active duty," he informed, voice slipping into a monotone. "I went back for another three months and was honorably discharged. For a year, I traveled ( _became a hired gun_ ), found myself ( _enjoyed it_ ), and realized there were certain aspects of my old job that I still enjoyed."

"Working with explosives?" she interjected, remembering his current profession.

His smile was heart stopping. "Yes." He was completely honest when he continued. "I became a UXO Tech and with my background was able to fly out and work in Europe, primarily France and Germany. I worked there for two years and it was... exhilarating." With every bomb he defused, he created another, perfecting his skill until he could produce them with his eyes closed.

Gabrielle removed another wipe and cleaned Biscuits squishy folds, cooing to him when he began to fuss. "And for the other year and nine months?"

 _How astute_. "I flew back to the US and made my home in New York where I teach in-between jobs." Of course by teaching he meant perfecting his own craft for killing, but she didn't need to know that. "I came to Gotham to..."

"Help with the Joker?" She inquired over her shoulder as she threw the wipes into the trash. "I moved right after he was captured and sent to Arkham. There were two bombings. I recall hearing the news say they were planted by him and that there are others located within the city. I assume you came to help?"

He nodded his head. "Yes, exactly," he said calmly, taking another bite of his cookie. It was a struggle to hold onto his poker face.

Gabrielle's shook her head and sighed. She couldn't understand how someone could be so cruel or wield so much power behind a padded cell. Ten people had died with two blonds alone, with twice as many injured. Fear gripped her when she realized Jack would be in the thick of it.

"Promise me you'll be careful," she asked him, her voice trembling. "I know your job is dangerous and that it's a hazard you're willing to take, but please don't take any added risks."

There was no way he could give her his word without breaking it. Risks came with his job, pastimes, and pleasures. After tonight chaos would ensue and even more danger would come his way. So why he couldn't make the promise she wanted, he could play around with words.

"I'll be careful," he promised, carefully schooling his features so he looked solemn. "I won't take any unnecessary risks, provided it's not for the good of the city." That sly devil, making himself appear chivalrous when he was anything but.

Leaning over the counter, she beckoned him forward. Jack inhaled sharply when she gripped his face in her hands and placed her soft, sweet lips against his forehead. "Thank you," she whispered pressing her forehead against his. "You just came back into my life and I don't want to lose you." Closing her eyes, she ran her thumbs along the smooth, yet puckered skin of his scars, sighing softly as she did so. The act sent heat spiraling through the both of them and her eyes flew open.

Embarrassed by her action, she pulled back and hiding her blush turned around and reached for two mugs. "Could you take Biscuit over to the nook?" she called over her shoulder shakily. "It's much more comfortable and I'll bring the coffee."

Not trusting his voice, he did as requested, nearly dropping the pup twice as his hands were shaking. Never had he felt something of that magnitude with just a mere kiss. His mind was spinning and his heart... Amber eyes blazed and a hint of a smile graced his lips. Oh, that action had sealed her fate for sure.

The cushions molded to his body as he took his seat and he sank deeper into them, resting his head back, and closing his eyes. Hearing her approach, he turned his head languidly and grinned. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and she was gnawing at her lower lip. _How charming._

"Brie, I approve of your mugs." Gabrielle held in her hands two distinct mugs: in her right, a blue mug in the shape of an elephant with gold and purple accents, and in her left, a black mug in the form of a grenade.

"I collect them," she admitted not quite meeting his eyes. "With your profession, I figured this one could be yours whenever you come over to visit." Setting them down on the table she darted back for the cream and sugar.

"I would have made it for you," she said taking her seat and scooting Biscuit to the side, "but I don't know how you like it." Reaching for her trusty elephant mug, she poured a generous amount of cream and sugar.

Patiently he waited for her to begin stirring the contents of her coffee before he gave his answer. "I like my coffee the same way I like my women." The spoon clattered against the mug. "Swee _t_ ," he concluded hitting the T hard and giving a dark chuckle.

Despite her deep blush, she managed a glare. "You're deplorable."

"No," he corrected, taking a sip of his black coffee with just a hint of sugar. "I'm the Joker."

With his beautiful interjection of the truth cleverly disguised as a joke, they fell back into their role as friends effortlessly. Even after five years of absence and one impromptu kiss, there was no unease between them, but a willingness to reclaim all that had been lost. For hours they conversed, sharing stories about work, new hobbies, and old pastimes, laughing until their sides hurt.

All the while they reminisced about the past, silently vowing to make the other present in their future.

* * *

The door opened slowly, light filtering inside Gabrielle's bedroom, causing the gold deGournay floral pattern on her navy colored walls to shine. Towel drying her hair Gabrielle emerged from the bathroom clad in black lace boxers and a white American Horror Story t-shirt. Turning off the lights to her bathroom, she flicked on the ones to her bedroom, a smile forming on her lips.

Firmly planted in the center of her queen sized bed amongst a plethora of cyan, chocolate, and white pillows was Biscuit, his Star Wars blanket firmly tucked around him. Chuckling softly, she glided across the hardwood floor toward him, scrunching the water from her hair with the towel. "Little sleepyhead," she mused aloud.

 _Beep, beep._

Dark brown eyes flew to her bedside table. The light from her cell phone reflected off a glass vase filled with red orchids signaling she had a message. Praying that it was nothing serious as it was late, she reached for her phone.

 _If you're still fond of the night sky, have a look out your window. There's a view tonight that will take your breath away._

A slow, sweet smile formed on her lips. Of course, there was no need to guess at who sent the message. Biting her lower lip, she texted him back, eyes beginning to shimmer.

 _I'll be sure to do just that. Goodnight, Jack._

 _G'night, Brie._

Plucking a wine rosette pillow from the floor, she tossed it onto a chaise lounge and pulled back the charcoal gray curtains from the window. The rain had stopped long ago and she stared across the Queen River at Uptown, watching as the city lights twinkled in the distance. Despite growing up in the City of Angels she preferred to be on the outskirts of the city; it gave her peace of mind yet kept her close in the event of an emergency.

Tilting her head back, she peered up at the heavens and gasped. It was as though every star had come to grace the sky with its presence; they sparkled and shine, casting their rays upon the waves and making them shimmer and dance before her.

Briefly, she wondered how he could possibly have remembered something so trivial, and then she shook her head in remembrance. On more than one occasion he had joined her to stargaze and was now simply continuing to do so. If only she knew how many times he had watched her from afar.

Pulling back with a sigh she secured the curtains, wanting to enjoy the view until she fell asleep.

Fingering her curls, she bit back a groan; they were still damp. Not caring about frizz as she had no plans for tomorrow, she tossed the towel into the laundry basket and turned off the lights.

The white silk sheets were so cool against her body and she let out a moan of pleasure. They were extravagant yes, but worth every penny. Turning onto her side, she stared out the window a moment or two before allowing her eyes to flutter close.

It was all in vain, the moan and softness of the sheets, for she tossed and turned, sleep eluding her. With the side of her face pressed into the pillow, she opened one eye and peered at Biscuit, quickly becoming envious to find him sound asleep.

Admitting defeat, she rolled onto her back, reaching blindly for the remote. Grasping it she sat up against her cream padded headboard and turned on the TV, which rested across from her bed and above her white fireplace, just another extravagant item that was worth it.

Flipping through the channels, she decided on the news. One report after another was given and she found herself gnawing on her bottom lip, fisting the material of the sheets in her hand, waiting to hear the word that the man who murdered her grandmother was in custody.

Sadly, there was none.

After another thirty minutes, Gabrielle found herself staring at the TV through lidded eyes, barely able to keep her head up.

When the weather report began she yawned, ready to call it quits. Just as she was about to turn off the TV, the image switched from a map depicting rain to the studio. Both news anchors looked terrified and she sat up straighter wondering what on earth could have happened.

"We interrupt our weather report with breaking news," Daniel Morals announced fearfully, a visible sheen of sweat upon his brow. "We have just received word that the Joker has escaped from Arkham Asylum."

Gabrielle's heart stopped. _It couldn't be_. _Surely I heard incorrectly._ But she took one look at both anchors and knew she had heard him perfectly.

"During a routine search by security this evening, the Joker was reported missing. Arriving quickly to the scene the police took the security guard into questioning along with the Joker's psychiatrist, Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Police have stated that during questioning while Miss Quinzel cooperated in disclosing her whereabouts, she refused to give comment about the Joker's mental health stating 'That it would be unethical to provide information about her patient without his consent.' "

Michelle Williams spoke next. "Through tough questioning, a security guard by the name of Michael Donahue revealed that the Joker had been free for nearly a month! During that time, it is presumed that Miss Quinzel, along with many of those employed at Arkham, aided in the elaborate cover-up in order to protect their loved ones as they had been threatened be the Joker. While there is no hard evidence-" Michelle paused as someone ran up with a piece of paper. The woman blinked profusely, the paper in her hand trembling. "We have just received previously recorded footage from the Joker. Please be advised that it has not yet been reviewed and may be graphic."

A manic blur of white, black, and red appeared before a lone vintage Joker card was shown. Off screen came a raspy and deeply mocking voice:

 _"Hello citizens of Gotham, I hope you didn't rejoice and think that my reign was at an end. Shame on you if you did. As your Clown Prince of Crime it is my duty to see to it that you are... entertained. Before the games begin, however, I will issue one warning and one warning only: if you don't want to play, then I suggest that you. **Get. Out. Now**. For once the games begin, whether you like it or not, you're all players this time around and everyone will have their turn. Ha-ha-ha!"_

A sliver of fear raced down Gabrielle's spine at his manic cackle and she swallowed hard, gripping the sheets so tight her hand went numb. When the image changed she nearly jumped out of her skin.

 _The image present bore no resemblance to the man who had visited just hours ago; bright lights shined down upon the Joker, making the red gleam and the black around his eyes appear like two gaping black holes._

 _Reaching into his waistcoat pocket he removed his pocket watch. Checking the time, he cackled once more, giddy with excitement._

 _"Well, would you look at that," he said snapping the watch shut. " The games have begun."_

The screen cut to black, drenching her room in darkness.

Light quickly flooded the space when the screen cut back to the studio. As the two anchors readied themselves to comment, a loud bang sounded, darkness falling upon Gabrielle once more.

Biscuit, startled by all the commotion, began to bark in earnest.

Frantically Gabrielle threw off the covers and rose to the feet. Flying across the reach she reached for the light switch and froze. A red-orange glow danced along her wall. Her mouth hit the floor when she turned to the window, breath escaping her in a whoosh.

 _There's a view tonight that will take your breath away._

Rooted in place, she watched in horror as the Channel 5 tower went up in flames, not once making the connection.

I'll tell you now that it's a good thing she didn't make the connection as it wasn't meant for her to do so. No, the flames were for the people of Gotham and Gabrielle is not, at least in the Joker's eyes, a citizen of Gotham, but _his._ And while the Joker continues to play games with the people of Gotham City, he will perform a magic trick for our leading lady. By weaving together the threads of their shared past, the tattered fragments of his present, and their combined _hope_ for the future, he will craft a beautiful _illusion of history_.

How far will his illusion go before she learns of its secret? Only time will tell.

* * *

 _Please leave a review!_


	3. Gifts, Boxes, and Three's

**Author's Note:** Forgive me. There are no words to even begin my apology for how long it has taken me to update this story. Thank you for being patient. Enjoy.

 ***** Mads Mikkelsen is the face of Benno Furman.

* * *

 **Gifts, Boxes, and Three's**

"I apologize."

Crouching down beside the body, the Joker used the man's shirt to wipe his blade clean. "They were supposed to capture you, not beat you within an inch of your life."

Several feet away Donovan Maddox sat tied to a chair unable to think of what had landed him in such a predicament. Hours ago he had been fast at work on a construction site when two men approached. They questioned him, knocked him unconscious, and he awoke when another punch was thrown. Now he was bloodied, sore, and held prisoner by Gotham's Most Wanted. Worst of all he had no idea why.

Rising from his crouched position the Joker raked back his acid green hair, smearing blood across his forehead in the process. Trailing his tongue along his lips, the heels of his shoes clicked along the rotted hardwood flooring and was joined by a scratching as he dragged a metal chair behind him.

"Don't be afraid," he drawled as Donovan began struggling against his bindings. "I'm not going to kill you. Scouts honor."

Donovan ceased struggling when the Joker took a seat in front of him. If he thought the Joker was horrifying from afar, why up close he was... demonic; creases had formed in his brow, patches of skin becoming visible, specks of blood and ruby arcs making for a startling contrast against the white paint.

Swallowing hard Donovan forced himself to put on a brave front.

Trailing his tongue along his scars the Joker regarded the man as one would a car crash, with rapt fascination, unable to tear himself away. Donovan was big, nearly 6'5 and over 200 pounds with dark skin, brown eyes, and a fade. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut and already ugly splotches were becoming visible along his arms and neck. Had the two dimwits kept up their steady attack he would be dead.

"I will advise you to listen carefully as I do not like to repeat myself," the Joker began, speaking slowly, firmly, wanting the man to hear and understand every word. "For every question I ask you will give me an answer. If I do not receive my answer within a timely manner or am told a lie, I will break you." Pausing he stared the man in his eye, ghost flames surging to life. "I will break you until you tell me the truth."

Resting on the back of his chair, the Joker tapped the tip of the blade against the metal leg. "Do. You. Understand?" He asked, hitting the metal leg with each syllable. Fearfully Donovan nodded. "Good."

Kicking his foot off the ground, the Joker rested his weight on the back legs of the chair. One foot on the ground the other swung out joyfully. "Are you a morning or evening person?"

The question threw Donovan for a loop. Speechless he stared at the Joker with his mouth agape not knowing if the question was serious or a joke.

At his silence, the Joker arched an eyebrow. "Maybe I didn't explain myself well."

The front legs of the chair slammed down hard onto the floor causing Donovan to jump, his bruised body pressing into the thick rope that kept him bound. Scooting the chair close until their knees touched the Joker leaned forward and pressed the tip of his blade on the back of Donovan's right hand.

"A coy silence," he began, trailing the knife along the back of Donovan's hand, "is only appreciated in a woman of interest. In anyone else, it is profoundly annoying."

Sweat broke out on Donovan's forehead making his skin glisten as his heart slammed against his ribcage. As terrifying as it was there was no pain; the knife was so sharp that all it took was the slightest increase in pressure to make him bleed. Paralyzed by fright, he watched with wide eyes as a line of blood appeared after the knife.

"Every question has an answer," the Joker continued. "Because you failed to listen and heed my warning," he rasped, angling the knife so that the tip entered into an opening of Donovan's flesh. "I will take the back of your hand as payment."

"No!" Donovan shouted, struggling like mad against the rope. He tried to shake himself free, to rise up from his position. It was useless.

Unaffected by his shout the Joker pressed the blade deeper under his skin. Donovan's screams of pain echoed throughout the entire warehouse. "Stop! Pllleaaase! I'll t-tell you w-whatever you wanna know. Just don't take my hand, man. Don't take my fuckin hand. Please!"

"Answer to my first question?"

Donovan thought fast. "M-morning."

"Profession?"

"C-construc-t-tion."

The Joker nodded his head as though that were the most interesting thing he had ever heard. "And what do you do in your leisure time?" He asked coming in closer, amber eyes darkening to appear as black as pitch. "I-I go downtown to Gold's Gym or to the bar—Aaahhhh!"

Blood dripped onto the wooden floor and in no time at all mirrored a soft rain. Horrified Donovan stared at his exposed flesh, eyes rooted to the muscle and tendons that were now visible. A strong wave of nausea came over him and he struggled to keep from vomiting.

"Care to try again?" Joker asked politely, letting the man's skin fall to the floor beside him with a sickening **plop.**

That plop was the catalyst of his breakdown. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Donovan struggled to free himself.

He was burly, strong, but no match for the ties that held him in place.

Tilting his head to the side, the Joker regarded him with an amused expression. "Don, you need to be more honest," he told him, speaking to him as though he were a friend in need of advice. "In fact, I find it insulting that you think I wouldn't know more about you. Now tell me, before I become irate, what it is that you do in your spare time."

"I DON'T DO SHIT!" He roared, anger and fear blending together. "I have two goddamn jobs and I don't fuck with you or anyone you-" Donovan's broke off as his head snapped to the right, the force of the Joker's backhand nearly knocking him unconscious.

Dazed his head fell forward.

Sucking in a breath, he smelled that detestable stench of mildew, blood, and death. It was too much. Before he could vomit the Joker grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up. "I'm not a fool, Don. I don't do things like this to pass the time, no matter how much fun it can be. Now, just say what it is you do. From one _killer_ to another, tell me," he whispered in his ear, "what is your vice?"

For a moment, the man went deaf. _How could he know?_ Eyes darting around the room Donovan tried to control his heartbeat, to think of a way out, but he couldn't. "T-theft." He choked out, eyes rooted to the silvery gleam of the metal chair.

A sinister smile crept upon the Joker's lips. "Weapon of choice?" He inquired next. Donovan mumbled a response. "Ah, ta, ta, I can't hear that."

"Shotgun."

Releasing his hair, he let the man's head fall forward. Circling the man once, the Joker took his seat.

Donovan waited for the blows to come, for the flash of a knife, or the sound of a gun. He received none of those things. The Joker merely stared at him, seeming to look straight through him.

Glancing down, Donovan stared at his massacred hand. "L-look man, I d-didn't mess with any of your guys. I swear," he said, hoping to convince the Joker of his innocence. "I only robbed, the upper crust I..."

A white painted brow went up. "Am I supposed to believe that you stole from the rich to give to the poor?"

"I didn't fuck with you!" He shouted in defense. "I may be a fuckin thief and a murderer, but I'm not crazy. I know to leave you and your crew alone."

A dark chuckle escaped. "My crew?" the Joker shook his head. "No one has seen my crew," he informed him. "Those two goons that did this," he said motioning to his bruised body with his knife, "...to you, are not part of my team. I have needs and they have their uses. Nothing more."

Leaning back into his chair he twirled his switchblade between his fingers and said, "Now I want you to think hard about why I, the... Clown Prince of Crime," he chuckled at the title the media had given him, "would go after you, a lesser form of criminal. Think hard," he instructed pointing a finger at him. "Think about your victims."

Rushing forward, he gripped the man's face in his hands. "Picture their faces," he growled, squeezing his cheeks hard. "Picture what they look like, their families—who they could possibly be related to and why I, of all people, would care enough to come. Looking. For. _You._ "

Images came to mind: women screaming, men trying to bargain for their lives, some of the people young, but most of them old.

All color drained from Donovan's face as one image came to the forefront of his mind. On a spur, high as a kite on cocaine, he was pressed for cash and took to the streets. That woman, that old broad he bumped off was related to that... actor? No, writer! And according to a statement made by a certain psychiatrist...

"Aw, fuck man," he cried, "I d-didn't know. Jesus Christ, I'm tellin' you I didn't know!"

Releasing his face, the Joker plopped down in his seat. "You don't have to beg for your life."

Resting his elbows on his knees, he eyed the exposed back of Donovan's hand. "Can we speak freely, Don?" Not waiting for a response he continued. "I am an admirer of the macabre and profane—in fact, no one loves it more than I do, however, there is art and then there's... compost." Staring at the fall of blood that continued to drip on the floor, he murmured, "I'm going to let you in on a little secret: in this great big world I only care about three people and no, it's not me, myself, and I." Blinking his eyes went from his hand to Donovan's wide eyes. "And you killed one of those people."

Without warning, he lashed out.

Boom boom, ba-dum. Boom boom, ba-dum. Boom boom ba-dum. All sound faded away except for the sound of his own heartbeat. Staring up at the sky through a hole in the ceiling he felt the knife cut into another muscle, only he was too weak to cry out this time. Boom boom ba-dum. _Is this what it feels like to die?_ From the corner of his eye, he saw the glint of steel as the Joker moved to make another incision and, this time, he felt... nothing.

Languidly he rolled his head back into place, tears staining his cheeks, dribbling. "I'm s-sorry," he repeated lost in a daze as the pain was so intense. "I'm... sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. I can't absolve your sins, however, I will allow you to atone." Leaning down, he whispered into his hear. Boom boom ba-dum. "I'm going," Boom boom ba-dum "...to make you into..." boom boom ba-dum, "... a gift." Boom...boom...ba... Those words stilled his heart.

Rising from his position the Joker made his way over to the opposite side of the room, going so far as to step on, not over, his deceased henchmen. Crouching down, he rifled through a black duffle bag and finding what he was looking for, rose to his feet.

"Now, now, don't get ahead of yourself, Donovan. I meant what I said previously, I'm not going to kill you." Cocking back the shotgun he gave the man a deadly smile. "Why your life rests in the palm of your hand. And if you want to live, all you have to do is hold it steady."

* * *

The bell chimed.

Turning around Benno Furman's sharp gray eyes collided with amber. "Rough night my friend?" he inquired, German accent strong.

Stepping further into the store Jack rubbed at his neck. He was dressed in a spotted blue silk shirt, purple pinstripe pants, black wingtips, and green geometric suspenders. One strap of his suspenders was on his shoulder, the other dangling below his hip, his hair pointing every which way, some strands heavy with dried blood.

"You could say that," he groaned, licking his lips and wiping away the last bit of paint on his mouth.

"I see. Well, try not to get blood on the floor. It does stain you know."

"Since when does a rich man's hitman care about blood stains?"

The Velvet Box was more than just a top of the line jewelry store in Gotham, or should I say, that Benno was more than just a jewelry maker and businessman. A craftsman by trade he was a marksman by choice and he cleaned up well in both areas. Of course, there were many who were oblivious of his talent with a gun and came to purchase his jewelry for themselves, but more came to pick out something special for their victim. A parting gift if you will. And oh how magnificent they looked in death wearing his creation as they rested in their very own _velvet box_.

"No matter the reason, just pick up your damn feet," he ordered, eyes focused on the diamond earrings he was arranging. "I would hate to send you away if you came for business and not pleasure."

Had it been anyone else Jack would have buried his knife in them to the hilt. But he and Benno went way back, having met in Germany years ago. And if it were one man he didn't want to get into a fight with it was him. For all of his innocent, yet high-born air Benno was a force to reckon with.

Starting at Benno's slicked back hair and strong jawline, Jacks eyes fell to his nimble fingers. Those hands could move faster than lightning and he knew that Benno had, at least, three guns hidden somewhere on his person, right underneath that black Italian suit. And for that reason, he picked up his feet.

"You really think I'm foolish enough to tread blood inside your store?"

"Yes."

Jack glared at his friend. "Tell me what you really think of me."

"We have a new selection in," Benno stated, ignoring Jacks words. Motioning to a line of pocket watches with a nod of his head he continued. "Perhaps there will be something of interest?"

"I'm not interested in a pocket watches," Jack replied, dismissing the expensive lot with a wave of his purple-gloved hand.

Benno arched a brow. Raising his gaze from the diamond earrings he eyed the watch that dangled from Jacks pocket knowing that it was in great need of repair. "Allow me to insist."

"I'm fine."

Jack wasn't the only one who knew to refrain from pushing. "Well, if you are not here to purchase anything, am I correct in assuming that you are here for business and not for pleasure?"

A soft crack pierced Benno's ear and he snapped his head to the right.

Coming around the counter, he passed Jack and made his way over to the cause of the sound. "Please do not lean on the countertop," he instructed. "The glass will break and I would hate for my friend to be in need of a new companion."

Wavy blonde hair blew in the air as Harleen whirled around to face him. "I'm sorry," she spoke quickly, eyes darting from Benno to Jack. "I was just trying to get a closer look, I didn't realize I was leaning so heavily upon the glass," she admitted honestly.

Far from being a night out on the town, the Joker had brought Harleen alone to prep her for her upcoming interview with both the police and the reporters. Because she had done so well memorizing all he had explained he rewarded her with his company.

Benno gave her a small smile. "Quite alright," he replied smoothly, extending his hand toward her in greeting.

Nervously she glanced at Jack, who merely arched a brow and shrugged his shoulders. Licking her lips nervously, Harleen placed a trembling hand in Benno's causing the older man to smile wider. "Forgive him," he said inclining his head to Jack, "he was never one to give the proper introduction. I'm Mr. Furman."

Her eyes glittered like stars and she chuckled, tickled by his delightful accent. "I'm Harleen. Harleen Quinzel."

Benno kissed the back of her hand and chuckled ruefully. "You've outdone yourself, Joker. Wooing your psychiatrist is a whole new level of your insanity. One I vastly approve of." Harleen blushed to the roots of her hair at the odd compliment.

"Now, as for your closer inspection allow me." Snapping his fingers, a younger woman with jet black hair and dark eyes emerged. "This is my daughter, Taissa. Whatever you want to see she will help you." With that, the two women quickly moved to try on a pair of red and black diamond chandelier earrings.

Benno turned to face his friend.

" Nun, da Ihr Vergnügen ist gesorgt, so werden wir uns an die Arbeit?"  
 _"Now that your_ pleasure _has been taken care of, shall we get to business?"_

Jack gave a curt nod. "We shall."

Making his way back over to Jack, Benno leaned on the counter causing his friend to chuckle. "Tell me, is your psychiatrist just a phase or is Harley Quinn, as you like to call her, here to stay?"

Trailing his tongue along his scars, Jack glanced over at Harley. She was wearing a red and black harlequin patterned dress that clung to her figure in a way that was just bordering obscene. As beautiful as she was, and flexible, she was equally intelligent, however, she broke far too easily. What had been a joyous romp quickly turned into infatuation on her part. Now it was Puddin' this, Puddin' that, so eager to please... just like a lap dog. If he were, to be honest, he would say that he liked her in the beginning, liked that stubborn pride and the way she had vowed he would never break her. It was a challenge and a turn on. But now... Now he merely had needs.

"I think you know the answer to your question," Jack said looking him dead in the eye.

It was true, Benno did know the answer. Had Jack felt anything romantically for Harley, even possession, he would not have allowed her hand to be kissed. He knew the jealous state of Jack and knew that Harley wasn't anything but entertainment. "So, who am I to be delivering my diamonds to?"

"It's not that kind of delivery." Digging into his pocket he removed a shotgun shell and tossed it to Benno.

Staring into the palm of his hand Benno arched a brow. "Why do I suspect that I am going to be put to the test as a jewelry maker?"

"Because you will be."

Trailing his gloved fingertips along the glass countertop, Jack eyed the various diamonds and crystals with a keen interest. This gift was nearly complete and everything had to be perfect.

"This gift will be for…?"

"An old friend."

Across the room, Harleen heard his words and stilled. His voice was laced with admiration, along with a deep-seated longing that she could feel. But that tone of voice, that emotion... It was not being used for her, but for this... old friend. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to remain calm and to block out the jealous rage that threatened to take hold. _Maybe it wasn't a woman. He has a lot of henchmen, maybe one of them is in need of a diamond plated knife or skull cufflinks._ As silly as the thought was it comforted her.

Harleen was not the only one reeling from Jack's loving tone. Benno tucked the shotgun shell in his pocket and stared at Jack as though his war paint had run revealing his true face.

" _Ist das ernst?"_

"Is this serious?"

Jack's amber eyes lifted from the glass and bore into his own. Rather than their usual dark shade, there was a glow to them that grew more intense as the seconds ticked by.

It was all the answer Benno needed.

Pushing himself up from the counter his eyes roamed over the vast inspection before them both. "Are we going off from years of memory or newly acquired information?" It was Benno's polite yet sassy way of saying, 'do you know what she likes or are you fishing for what you saw in the past?'

Biting down hard on his scars Jack resisted the urge to grab him by the back of his neck and slam him face first into the glass. It was hard, not because of what Benno had said, but the truth of it. While he and Gabrielle were close a lot of time had passed between them. Were her likes still the same or had she changed?

The overhead light hit an orange teardrop diamond and stole his attention. It would be beautiful against her caramel complexion, but would she like it? Or would she prefer something in her favorite color blue? One thing for certain, this, no matter how beautiful, would not do.

"These," he drawled, motioning to the diamonds, "won't do. Diamonds are for jaded individuals."

Harleen yanked the ruby red diamonds from her ears.

"Simple," he murmured thinking of Gabrielle. "Classic," he stated with a smile. "In possession of a hidden edge."

Benno nodded. Now the first piece of the gift made sense. "If this friend is truly unique then I have just the selection."

Motioning for him to follow, Benno led Jack behind the counter and into the back room. They passed the simple façade of boxes, wrapping, and bows and went further back to his office. While Jack made himself comfortable at his desk, Benno disappeared into a side room and returned a few minutes later with a black box

Setting it carefully upon the desk he looked Jack in the eye. "As you said and I agree, diamonds, even with all their beauty, are most sought and thus made plain. Yet there are other stones just as precious and far more impressionable that will make a lasting impression." Pausing he ran his fingertips over the smooth surface of the box. "All you have to do is choose carefully."

Light from overhead shined down upon its contents causing a dazzling array of colors to splash onto Jack's face. Biting the tip of his gloved finger he pulled his hand free. He ran his fingertips over the stones, some smooth others raw and jagged. Finding one, the perfect one, he lifted it from the velvet backing and held it closer to his face for inspection. Staring through acid green waves, he eyed the precious stone already envisioning how it would look against Gabrielle's bare skin.

Raising his gaze from the stone Jack gave a small nod to Benno.

"As always you've made an excellent choice, my friend."

* * *

Murky figures roamed past as Gabrielle stared out the window from her seat in a small café.

Twirling a lock of hair 'round her finger, she tried her best to ignore the reporters who waited across the street. Nearly three weeks had passed since the bombing of the Channel 5 Tower and in its place was nothing short of a silent pandemonium. Everyone wanted out of the city, but no one dared to make a move. Clever little battleship pictures of engulfed ferries lined the shores and at night a merry old tune of _London Bridges_ played, signaling that it was only a matter of time before the bridges fell. So the people remained as they were: terrified and waiting for the Joker to make his next move.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Gabrielle turned her head eyes connecting with those of amber. Nestled in the corner and sitting across from her was Jack. His acid green hair was hidden underneath a black beanie and he was dressed down in a pair of black trousers and a sweater, the sleeves pushed up to the elbow, and bright purple oxfords with green laces so dark they almost appeared black. Nothing covered his scars and no one looked at him. Not because his scars didn't draw attention, but because everyone was focused on her.

"They're the same as before," she replied softly.

At that, Jack gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I don't think you have anything to worry about." Gabrielle gave him a look that said just how wrong he was.

Biting down on his scars he gripped the mug in his hand, fighting back the urge to shatter it. Everything had been perfect. Everything. He had managed to listen to her fears about the bombing and soothe them, making her look forward to her book signing which took place next week. And then it had to go up in flames. All because a certain doctor couldn't keep her. Pretty. Little. Mouth. **Shut.**

While he had been a patient at Arkham Asylum in no time at all he had the bulk of the staff like puppets on a string, with one in particular wound tightly around his finger. The staff had given in to his every whim.

On more than one occasion he requested books instead of knives and warpaint. Of course, the staff was against it; he had already proven just what a hardcover copy could do to a skull with enough force and determination, but one look from him and they relented. And maybe it was his mistake. While he had made sure to request a plethora of books there were a few that he read repeatedly. And the doctor noticed.

Under intense questioning from the police about her involvement with his escape, Doctor Hool had mentioned Gabrielle stating, 'Despite Gabrielle Danis being a criminal suspense author, it came as a surprise when he requested her work. Though she is talented, there is a bit of novelty, romance, which he liked. When her latest book was released he wanted it immediately. Even before the request, he would specifically ask for unabridged copies of her older work. Whenever he received them something changed, he was less volatile, calm even. Though we still couldn't get through to him, I knew that if he had something written by her to occupy his time that nothing would go wrong.'

Oh, how the gossip started.

First, it was among the police and then the reporters who had a field day! They cornered the good doctor on the street demanding to know how she could pick up such a subtle thing and not the Joker's primary psychiatrist, Dr. Quinzel. It was then Miss Hool admitted, "I spoke with Harleen on the matter, but she wouldn't hear of it. The idea that the Joker could find interest in someone was preposterous to her. I was told, quite emphatically, 'that the Joker was a man with specific taste and interest and that a low budget author wouldn't keep his attention.' "

The reporters immediately spun the tale of the Joker escaping to meeting Gabrielle, dubbing him her "biggest fan," turning the once private author into an even bigger celebrity.

Now Gabrielle was followed constantly.

In no time at all she became distant and closed off, so unlike the girl he once knew, and the woman he wanted to have. Staring deep into her eyes, Jack vowed that that doctor would suffer, that he would go so far as to make her death legendary.

Licking his lips, he leaned forward. "You don't have anything to be afraid of. The doctor," he spat the word, "denied the level of my—his interest," he hastily corrected, "...for you. And this," he said motioning with his head to the reporters across the street, "is nothing. You're just the newest thing to reach Gotham since that rodent disappeared."

"You mean Batman?" she corrected.

It was a struggle not to let his eye twitch at the awe in her voice. "Yes, I mean the Bat," he said hitting the T hard and making her smile.

"Why do you dislike him so much? From what I heard, he did his best to clean up Gotham."

At that, he did roll his eyes. "He's just a man in a mask."

"And the Joker is a two-bit clown in a cheap suit."

Jack gasped in outrage. "That suit is-!" He broke off realizing that he was just seconds away from revealing himself. "You may be right about... some things," he growled as he forced himself to agree. Taking a sip of his coffee he let the matter drop, but not before mumbling something about having a greater sense of style.

Placing his empty mug on the table he used the tip of his finger to twirl it in slow circles before him, increasing speed as he went along. "Point I'm trying to make is that you're just the talk of the town. The bestselling author moves to a crime infested city, tragedy strikes, and now the Joker is loose. You're just being used as a headliner, a way to reel in buyers for newspapers with ugly print. I doubt he's thinking about you."

"What if he is?"

The mug stopped spinning.

Biting down on his cheek he eyed her half-eaten croissant while he thought of his answer. When he lifted his gaze to hers his amber eyes bore into her own shining with an intensity she hadn't seen in years. "He's not," he stated firmly, needing her to believe his words. "We're talking about a... psychopath, remember?" Curving his lips into a grin he said, "The Joker doesn't have the time to think about a writer when he wants the world to burn to the ground."

Looking at him, she wondered just how true his words were. Hadn't the news announced just recently about the return of Batman which proved to be false? And Dr. Hool did come back to retract her statements. Perhaps it truly was a gimmick.

"So what venues are you thinking of?" He asked by way of changing the subject.

"Well," she began, sitting up straighter and smoothing out the folds of her dark fuchsia dress. "I was thinking about the library near Wayne Enterprises. It was just remodeled and should be able to hold everyone in attendance, but before we can sign for it, we have to receive an ok from the Commissioner."

"Gordon?" Jack finished with a twinkle in his eye. At her nod, he went on. "I spoke with him once. Enjoys the good cop, bad cop routine."

Her brow furrowed. "How do you-?"

"Are you two doing alright?"

Snapping her attention to her left Gabrielle stared at their waitress, Holly. She was young, no more than 20, with brown hair and sky blue eyes. Though she smiled at the both of them, she had eyes only for Jack. "Would you like another cup of coffee?" she asked sweetly, hand on her hip.

"No," he answered, not bothering to look her way.

"How about a scone?" She persisted. "We just took a fresh batch out of the oven."

Jack gave her a look that said she was clearly wasting his time. "Did I order one when I first arrived?" At the shake of her head, he continued. "Then why would I be in need of one now?"

Holly blushed at his hard tone of voice. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I just thought you would be interested."

"'Interested?'" he repeated, giving her his full attention. "Come on, Holly, just tell me what you would like for me to sample. A scone or," he eyed her up down slowly, wanting to make sure she saw his inspection, "something else?" The blush intensified. "Speak up and be honest."

Biting her lip, she gave Gabrielle a sideways glance and turned back to Jack. "Something else," she returned haughtily.

A slow, sexy smile grace his lips. Crooking his finger, he beckoned her.

"Yes?" she said her blue eyes roaming over his handsomely scarred face.

"Given the options I have, I'll take the scone," he said sweetly. "Make sure it's chocolate." Turning his head back to Gabrielle he gave her a sincere smile, one that revealed the golden flecks in his eyes. "And what would you like, sweetheart?"

Furious Holly's eyes darted over to Gabrielle, looking at her in a way that said, 'what have you got that I don't?'

"I'm fine," Gabrielle answered politely, not wanting to stoop to her level.

"On second thought, you know what I really want, _Holly?_ " Jack asked.

Slowly Holly turned back to Jack immediately forgiving his earlier transgression due to the look in his eye and the way he purred her name. "What's that?" She inquired somewhat breathless.

"Your absence."

Holly's jaw hit the floor. Gabrielle coughed into her hand in an attempt to mask her laughter.

Straightening to her full height, Holly turned murderous eyes to both of them. "If you'll excuse me I have another customer to see to." Glaring at Gabrielle, she gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Good luck with the Joker." Turning on her heel, she took one step forward and tripped.

"You should really watch where you're going," he said as he moved to help her stand.

Smacking his helping hands away, Holly dusted herself off and stomped over to counter with as much gusto as her wounded ego could muster. Poor thing was completely unaware that a Joker card had been placed in her back pocket.

Taking his seat, Jack laughed at Gabrielle's expression. "What?"

"Did you trip her?"

Jack gave her a sly smile. "No," he denied, scars stretching across his cheek as his smile widened. "I just happened to stick my leg out the minute she took her first step."

Drumming her nails along her mug, she shook her head at him. "You need to stop toying with people, Jack."

At the use of his name he tutted. Because the city was on high alert she wasn't using his nickname in public and it made him nearly insane. "You can call me by my nickname ya know." Running his tongue along his scars, he leaned forward. "I don't think the big bad wolf will be summoned just because you said the word joker."

Gabrielle snorted. "I highly doubt that," she muttered before taking a sip of her coffee. "With these drastic turn of events in my life I could say the name once and he would walk down the street, or three times and have him appear at my book signing. But with my luck," she murmured eyeing the passersby outside the window, "he's probably already beside me, watching, just waiting to reveal himself."

"Why don't you just say it?"

Turning away from the window she looked at him with a confused expression. "My name," he continued, holding her gaze. "Before you believe your own superstition, say it once so you know that it isn't true."

Believing it to be his way of having her get over her fear she did as was told. "Joker."

When the sound of his beloved alias came from her full lips he nearly melted. "See," he said huskily, "he's not walking down the street."

"Haha. Very cute, Joker."

"Ah, now that's two," he warned, holding up two fingers and wiggling them for emphasis. "Be careful, you don't want to say it again and have him show up at the book signing," he teased with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Leaning forward on her arms she came to the middle of the table. Jack followed so that they were only a breath away. "You're baiting me on purpose," she told him.

"Of course, I am," he returned unapologetically.

"It's not like he'll show up," she said by way of dissuading him.

"Only _one_ way to find out," he sang.

Biting down on her lower lip she forced herself to hold his gaze. When he wiggled his brows, silently goading her she said it. "Very well then... _Joker_."

* * *

 _What did you think? Leave me a review!_


	4. Don't Fear the Reaper

**Author's Note:** Long time, no update. So sorry about that. I hope this is to your liking;17 pages, over six thousand words, and a new character! When you think of Lee, envision Tom Hiddleston. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Don't Fear the Reaper**

The crowd was thunderous. Standing on the top floor of the library Gabrielle looked down upon the people of Gotham. Every reporter, journalist, and morbid fan of the infamous Clown Prince stood in attendance. There were so many people that twice Gordon had to call for more police. But regardless of the number of law enforcement present, there was little they could do. After all, a warning had already been given by the man in purple himself.

Lifting her midnight eyes from the crowd, Gabrielle stared at the large poster on the building across from the library. A Joker card stared back. More frightening than the larger than life calling card was the message written below it.

 _Every dog has his day, but not every Joker gets a storyteller._

Gets. Not every Joker _gets_ a storyteller. If that wasn't a bold statement of his intentions, she didn't know what was!

"How are you coping, Miss Danis?"

Quickly Gabrielle turned her attention to the man who had spoken.

Sitting in a chair wearing a charcoal three-piece suit was Detective Lee. Assigned by Gordon, Lee was her personal bodyguard. Tall and lithe, he possessed a lean frame, fair skin, raven hair, and dazzling emerald green eyes, the color was so vibrant that it rendered her speechless every time their gaze locked.

Not only was he physically striking with his high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, but he was quick of wit and exceedingly charming.

"I'm sorry?" She returned.

Finger stuck at the corner of the page, Lee focused his attention solely on her, nearly robbing her of breath. _Damn those eyes of his._ While she secretly compared every man she met to Jack, her childhood crush, she realized that Lee could very well be his rival. It had to be the intensity of his stare. Lee wasn't merely waiting for an answer, but trying to figure her out, to decipher some unknown script, code of her being.

"How are you coping, Miss Danis?" He asked once more, his voice smooth as satin.

"I'm fine."

The corners of his mouth twitched as he returned his attention back to the book.

"'I'm fine,'" he repeated in a slow, mocking drawl. "That, my dear, is the most common lie of our time."

"For the past twenty minutes you've stood there looking out the window, searching for the Joker," he stated. "If it weren't for your expressive eyes, you could easily be mistaken for a statue."

Flipping to the next page, he scanned the text, tilting his head this way and that, brows rising in unmasked approval of whatever it was he was reading.

Raising his gaze, he peered at her with inquisitive eyes, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Surprisingly enough you've managed to remain calm, despite the overall threat that hangs so subtly above our heads," he commented, referring to the obnoxious poster. "While you are frightened, you know how to put on a good, solid front. That alone deserves a respite, don't you think?"

Unholy and unnerving were his words. Effortlessly he had caught on to her carefully masked fatigue, the downturned corners of her mouth. Even her agent who had known her for years had been fooled.

"Could you be calm at a time like this?" When he arched a brow, she refrained from rolling her eyes. Had she just asked a seasoned detective if he could keep calm amidst the chaos?

"If you were in my position," she began anew, "would you still be as calm as you are now?"

Lee's answer was immediate. "Yes."

Not bothering to respond, she merely crossed her arms over her chest and looked back out the window. It did occur to her that she was giving a potential sniper one hell of an opportunity, but she had a sickening feeling that no one would kill her, at least no one other than the Joker. And he was determined to get close.

"I meant no disrespect," Lee said from behind. "When I said I would remain calm, it's because it's the truth. Regardless of the situation, you're far too focused on yourself." Gabrielle peered at him over her shoulder, one sculpted brow arched. "There are snipers located on the rooftops of this very library, across the street at the bank and shopping centers. Not only that but two armed guards are standing watch outside the door, others patrolling the alleys and sidewalks, not to mention those who are blending into the crowd.

"For that fact alone I would be calm," he told her. "Now mind you, I say calm, not… comfortable. Would I let my guard down? No. I would, however, take a respite knowing that if the Joker came, I would have one hell of a barrier of police, which is a good head start to have."

 _Spoken like a true survivalist—no, not survivalist, strategist._ All this time Gabrielle had pitied the detective, knowing that hers was an assignment that no one wanted. Now she respected Gordon's choice. Push comes to shove, Lee would think fast on his feet, would be reliable and cool in the storm.

"Thank you," she said with a sigh. Raking her hands through her stubborn curls, she forced a smile. "While your words…" She trailed off searching for the right word. "…have placated my resistance at relaxation, the fear is still there."

"Don't be afraid, Miss Danis," he sang, eyes dancing with mirth. "You don't have to fear the Joker when you're around me."

Sitting up straighter, he nodded to the seat beside him. "You said it yourself that your resistance to relaxation has been placated, so have a seat. We have another two hours left to our day and a rest will do you some good. Unless, of course, you enjoy staring at that atrocious poster, then all the power to you!"

Unable to help herself she barked a laugh. "Ha-ha!" Peering at the obnoxious calling card, she lost her sudden cheer.

"Oh no," Lee exclaimed. "Looks like you need a drop of the _hot stuff_ to get you moving _._ If you do _,_ just let me know."

Gabrielle's brows rose. "A drop of the hot stuff? I didn't think you would be the type to drink on the job."

In all honesty, this was an assignment he should have seen coming. And had he been given the chance, it was one he would have avoided altogether. Nevertheless, orders were orders and damn it all if he didn't find himself enjoying his job, his _assignment_.

The writer wasn't like the other socialites or entertainers Gotham housed. Rather than being rude, obnoxious, and carrying a sense of entitlement, Gabrielle was kind. Courteous, charming in an unassuming way and in possession of a spark, a hidden edge. Faster than she could take note, Lee let his eyes wander over her figure. Simple yet classic, she wore fitted white jeans that were tucked into brown ankle boots, and a biscotti V-neck sweater, the tail and cuffs of her blush colored button down peeking through. Add in her short curly locks, midnight eyes, and ruby, red lips, not to mention the small .22 pistol—her hidden edge—that was tucked into the back of her jeans, and Lee was floored!

While the world would never think it, she was a good, if not a great shot. Growing up in her rough and rowdy neighborhood and having a _joker_ for a friend would do that to you. All her own, she had flashed her permit to Gordon who had grinned in approval.

" _I can't say that I'm not taken back because I am," Gordon returned handing back her gun permit. Losing his grin, he gave her a stern look, eyes filling with concern. "While I hope the moment doesn't come for you to use it, it may very well happen. The Joker is unpredictable. If push comes to shove, if he appears and tries to take you, take the shot. Take the shot and may your aim be true!"_

Quickly raising his attention back to her eyes, he gave her a devilish grin. "I wasn't referring to a strong drink, Gabrielle."

At his silken tenor and mention of her name, her heart slammed against her ribcage, cheeks filling with color as her eyes widened.

"The color of your blush suits you," he complimented sincerely, not the least big apologetic for his words or having made her flustered. Looking back down at the book in his lap, he murmured, "Yes, I dare say I prefer that to your distress."

Immediately the spell he had woven broke. "Was that a joke, a distraction to get me to relax?"

Lee's eyes were smoldering when they found her own once more. "I'm not in a habit of saying things I don't mean." Lips curving into a smile he added, "I may bend the truth, twist and weave it in a disorderly and highly perplexing fashion, but I do tell it."

"Does the truth need to be bent at all?" She asked, taken in by his manner of thinking. "Why can't you simply tell the truth plainly?" She inquired further, taking a seat beside him and shifting slightly as she wasn't fully used to the feeling of the gun pressed against her side.

"Because the truth is anything but plain."

Closing his book, he rested his left ankle on his right knee and peered out the windows.

Gabrielle swore she could hear the cogs turning, see bits of steam coming from the top of his head. The man possessed a quite intensity along with a brilliant frame of mind. All throughout the day she had watched him stare at the crowd with hawk-eyes deeply laced with curiosity. Now, he was searching for words.

"To me," he began slowly, "the truth is like a flame; hot. No matter how you tell it, or what you say, it will burn. Even the kindest truth can take you by surprise with its heat. That's why I bend it, take it to ground to cool and extinguish, or higher up to soar, to blaze uncontrollably." He paused, giving her a near wicked smile, turning just so to give her a glimpse of the Desert Eagle in his holster. "A normal man is satisfied with plain truths but I myself have a flair for theatrics. Perhaps it comes with the territory."

"Is that why you joined law enforcement and became a detective? To use your dizzying intellect and manner of bending truth as a stronghold over criminals?"

For the longest time, he stared at her with a blank of an expression.

"No," he answered at last. "That's not why I became a detective. Honestly, that's not the case. Not at all really. But do I use my intellect above others? Most certainly."

Changing topics, he held up his book, revealing it to be her own work, A Siren's Call.

"I do not mean to sound critical, though having read it, several times in fact, its… puzzling. Looking at you I would never think that you would be able to write about crime in the manner in which you do. Your villains are not romanticized but incredibly raw, fearsome things. And yet it is in this feral nature that we glimpse their humanity, reasoning for their actions.

"Miss Danis, you make the world want to cheer for the villain, not the hero. Having done so, you've turned the world, more specifically this city on its axis."

The truth had finally been spoken.

Gabrielle's work wasn't just pretty prose, but pain. So painful that it transcended normalcy, making you feel not for the victims or the police force, but for the criminals themselves. In every novel the villain was a monster; cruel, malicious, wreaking havoc without care. In every line, you yelled at them. Yelled until your voice went hoarse and could only breathe words across the pages. As the story progressed you began to understand. And then, you wept for them. Began to hurt, to bleed for the unlawful without remorse. By the conclusion you were no longer sane, that is to say, your rose-colored spectacles had broken, and the world was no longer blushing hues or even black or white but gray.

It was no wonder then that the Joker had gravitated toward her work.

"I understand my work is far from what's acceptable," she told him. "Yet I grew up in LA. I've seen men, good men, have to result to a gang lifestyle not because they enjoyed it, but for their own protection. While there are criminals, people in this world who lack empathy and only want to hurt others, there are those who have done terrible things, and someone manage to remain… human. It is those who I write about; those men and women who do deserve to be looked at in a different light."

Shaking her head, she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "It's just not in me to take things as they are, I guess. Life is full of so many questions though I prefer to think of them as conundrums. Once I solve one, the world is no longer as it was and my characters have to be… truthful to that; bent and woven into the fabric of reality, either to cool or surge as I see fit," she finished using his words back at him.

At her words a wondrous light shown in his eyes making them glitter and shine like the jewels they reminded her of.

"It's funny that you would mention conundrums, I myself am quite fond of them."

"I've enjoyed them since childhood. Matter of fact, my grandmother," she choked up a bit. Swallowing back the approaching sadness, she forced a smile. "My grandmother loved them, especially riddles. All those she couldn't solve I took it upon myself to complete."

Lee's mouth curved into a small smile, eyes twinkling even more. "Gabrielle, are an unparalleled delight."

Without warning the door was thrown open.

Jumping in her seat, she snapped her head to the right as Ari, her agent, made his way inside.

"How's my superstar?" He inquired over Gabrielle's curse, making Lee arch a brow and Gabrielle glared furiously at him.

Arthur "Ari" Stefano was dashing, bright, and a go-getter. Having stumbled across her work years ago during a poetry reading, he had done everything in his power to make her a success. Fast-forward to now and she was still his number one client and dear friend.

"I'm doing much better now," she replied honest, despite her thundering heart.

Coming further into the room, Ari pulled Gabrielle up to her feet, enfolding her into a hug. True to the end, he hadn't so much left her side, unless instructed by police. "Sorry. I know I scared the hell out of you, barging in like I did. I just had to see you before they snuck you away again."

Pulling back, he stared into her eyes, unable to mask his worry. "My offer still stands, you know. Once this is over I'm taking Shannon and the kids and going back to New York. There's a guesthouse with plenty of room. You can stay for as long as you like, you know that."

Since the death of her grandmother, Ari had been begging her to leave Gotham. With the new scare of the Joker, he was now adamant. If she didn't know any better, she would swear he was one step away from knocking her upside the head and stuffing her into the trunk of his Jaguar!

"Ari, I—" She broke off as Lee received a call on his walkie-talkie.

Both Gabrielle and Ari looked toward him, faces drawn tight with concern. _Please, don't let it be him. Please, God, anyone but…him._

"Yes?" Lee spoke into the walkie-talkie. "Where? How soon? Ok. I understand."

Lee flew up to his feet. "We have company."

Gabrielle felt her stomach plummet to her feet.

"Arthur, you'll go with Stevens as planned and Miss Danis, you'll come with me. Hurry now. We don't have much time."

Before she could even make the promise of seeing Arthur again, Lee had latched onto her wrist and pulled tight, all but flying toward the door.

Outside in the hall, his strides were so long she was practically running to keep up with him.

"Please tell me what's going on," she begged. "P-please…"

"Hey!"

Immediately Gabrielle looked back. One of the officers who had been guarding the door was staring at her confused, the other distracted by the series of commands coming from his walkie-talkie.

"What are you doing?" The officer shouted when Lee continued on to the glass elevators. "Detective, you're not supposed to move from that move with Miss Danis until we receive the call—" Lee spun on his heel, drew his gun and fired.

It wasn't like the movies.

The officer didn't clutch at his wound and gargle up blood. He just… fell. Dead before he even hit the ground.

In much the same fashion the other officer went down, only he slid against the wall and crumpled to the floor.

Gabrielle's blood curling scream lodged in her throat as Lee pressed the barrel of his Desert Eagle against her temple. "Easy," he murmured when she started trembling. "I meant what I said, you don't have to fear the Joker when I'm around." A wicked grin graced his features. "You just have to fear… _me_."

Chuckling darkly, he applied more pressure against her head. "Now remove your hand from your pistol, please." Though she had nearly screamed a scream worthy of any horror actress, fight or flight kicked in at the same time. Truth be told she wasn't even aware she had reached for the pistol until he told her.

Fingertips burning a path along her lower back to her hip, he removed her weapon. "I'll take this."

"W-what do you want from…?"

"Watch your step," he interrupted.

Without warning, he spun her around, sending her hurling toward the open elevator with a swift kick to her backside.

Dazed, she slunk to the ground rubbing her chest, having collided into the wall with a grunt. Head spinning, she closed her eyes, willing herself to focus. It was impossible with the sound of rapid gunfire blaring out behind her.

Flying into action, she scrambled to her hands and knees and lunged for the control pad, slamming the doors closed button.

Of course, luck wasn't on her side; Lee came barreling through just seconds after the button was pressed.

"Well, that was rude."

Rising on shaky legs, she pressed her back against the wall, trying to put as much distance between the two of them. Lee's wasn't even winded. The only signs of his shootout were the gun clutched in his hand and his raven hair, which having escaped from its sleek style, fell boyishly across his forehead.

A jarring sound filled the space as the walkie-talkie boomed with activity.

"Shots fired!"

"We have three officers down. Two dead, one badly wounded."

"All officers head toward the main elevator. I repeat, all officers head toward the main elevator!"

"No sign of the Joker."

"…again, I repeat, 'the Riddler has her!'"

 _The Riddler?_ Swallowing back her fear. _Who… the fuck… was the Riddler?!_

"I'm the Riddler, darling."

Immediately her eyes locked on his. She wasn't even aware she had spoken aloud. "I…"

"Yes, I know," he interrupted. "It's hard to wrap your head around it, seeing as I never gave you my full name. I am Edward Lee," he dragged out the name Lee in such a way that it sounded like the letter E, "Nigma. Edward E. Nigma."

Everything in her told her to panic, to cry, bargain with him. But in the back of her mind, the furthest corner, she heard Jack's voice.

" _Don't worry, Brie, you'll be fine. Though if the Joker happens to arrive, you keep your wits about you and look for the first staircase to push the fucker over! Either that or kiss—ow! Don't hit me, I'm joking!"_

 _Stay calm. Stay focused. Don't panic. Do not_ —shots sounded from neighboring floors.

"Riddler?" A soft-spoken man asked on the walkie-talkie.

"Scarecrow." _Edward_ returned fondly.

"Glad to see you're still alive. For a minute, you had me worried." Scarecrow's voice turned nauseatingly sweet as he asked, "I trust you have the novelist with you?"

"Indeed, I do."

Gabrielle could literally hear the smile in Scarecrow's voice when he spoke next. "Wonderful. Hello, Miss Danis. So sorry we couldn't have met under better circumstance. Never mind, though, I plan to acquaint myself with you shortly." His voice dropped low. "With your fanciful mind, I can't wait to learn of your fears."

Turning his focus back to Edward, Scarecrow said, "The Joker is nowhere in sight, however, four neon garbed clowns have made their own attempt at drawing him out. I trust that you, like myself, have no time for their antics, so I'm going to release the gas early. The elevator is locked and will only open once you've reached the ground floor. Located in the locked panel below the control pad is your mask. You have two minutes."

Placing his gun back into his holster, Edward stepped over to the panel. Gabrielle all but flew to the other side of the elevator to avoid him. Ignoring her he crouched down, removing a small key from his pocket and opening the panel, retrieving the mask. It wasn't really much of a mask, just an odd shaped silver bit of metal that covered the nose and mouth. Digging further inside the panel, he removed a pink tube and set it inside the mask, a hiss escaping as the antidote loaded.

All this time she had been in fear of the Joker when she should have feared every criminal mastermind in Gotham.

"How long can you hold your breath?"

Startled she was pulled from her thoughts. "What?" She asked, tilting her head to the side and hitting the T hard as Jack did every time he was taken back by something.

Picking up on her acquired habit, Edward froze, brows drawn in bewilderment. A malevolent gleam appeared in his eyes. All three criminals had spent time in Arkham, long enough to study each other's mannerisms. Gabrielle imitated the Joker's perfectly.

"Well, riddle me this… No wonder he's after you," he spoke aloud. "He knows you, but you… You've forgotten him, haven't you?"

Before she could even process the absurdity of his question, a bomb went off.

Soon another bomb went off, followed by another, and another… And then, the hissing sounded.

Screams. Running footsteps, shouts for help, and gunfire reached her through the metal cage she was in. While that was good and terrible, the hissing was deafening. How much gas was Scarecrow releasing? Enough for the library, or all surrounding blocks?

"Oh my God!" She screeched when she saw the first wisps of toxic green gas seep through the doors.

Screaming at the top of her lungs, she found herself being slammed into the wall, Edward pressing down his full weight to hold her prisoner.

"Fight me and you'll die."

Hands that had been a mere breath away from clawing at his face froze.

"Listen very carefully," he instructed calmly, even as more gas filtered inside. "I only have one mask, one tube. Once I breathe in the antidote, I'll transfer it to you. Hold your breath until I do. If you exhale and breathe in the fumes, you'll succumb to deliria and psychosis. Now hold it."

Ok, maybe it was all the damn adrenaline and approaching hysterics, but something in his eyes showed sincerity, his determination for her to survive.

Not having much choice, she nodded her head. "O-ok."

Another bomb went off and she jerked in his arms.

Agonized screams filled the air making her blood run cold as she drew in a deep breath. Gunshots followed grotesque groaning and thumping as people on the floors above and below began to speak gibberish. No doubt they had begun to dart about wildly, running from people, things that weren't there.

Tears falling, she stared up into emerald eyes, wishing that they were amber _. I'm going to die. I'm going to_ —Edward placed his large hand over her mouth and nose. Instinctively her hands gripped his shirt to shove him away, head twisting to fight, but then she remembered what he had said and forced herself to remain still. Forced herself to put her trust, faith, in a criminal.

It was laughable; her work as a writer had come to life and bit her in the ass!

Never losing eye contact Lee placed the device over his nose and mouth and pressed a button.

A deadly seafoam colored mist swept over them.

Fisting the material of his shirt and waistcoat tighter, she struggled to clear her mind, to hold her breath. All she could focus on was the tickling, numbing feeling of the gas on her skin. It made her stomach tighten, bile threatening to rise. She couldn't… Body shaking, she pressed her lips deeper into the palm of his hand, hoping he got the hint.

Slowly the pressure of his hand lifted. Lips still firmly shut, eyes closed, she waited for him to press the mask to her face.

Edward's lips touched her own and her eyes flew open.

Shocked to the core, she could do nothing but stare into those green gems as he… kissed… her. Pinching her nose closed, his serpents tongue pried her lips apart forcefully, his mouth sealing closed over her own. Gabrielle's bellow of outrage sucked in a precious mix of oxygen, carbon dioxide, and antidote, almost making her break away and choke as the bitter taste filled her mouth.

Oh, hell had no fury like the kind that shone in her eyes! If looks could kill, Lee would have been a ghost.

Tearing her lips away from him, she shot daggers at the metal contraception he set around his mouth, wanting with all her might to pull it off of him. But it was only then that she saw it. The mask molded perfectly to his shape, like a second skin. It would never have fit her.

Edward struggled to keep his emotions in check. Her lips were soft, so damn soft and she tasted… heavenly. Sweet like honey and her gasp of outrage did nothing but edge him on.

Breathing in deeply he stared at her swollen mouth, already anticipating the second kiss.

The elevator dinged at they reached the first floor and slid open to a war zone.

Officers were firing their weapons into the ceiling and walls. Innocent civilians were either running around frantically or in the fetal position. Desks and chairs were overturned, glass and books littered the floor, and the scent of copper, blood, hung heavy in the air.

Try as she might she couldn't look away.

Knowing the fumes would linger for another minute or so, he took another deep breath and removed the mask. Gripping her chin in his hand he turned her forcefully to face him. 'One more,' he mouthed.

This time, she was prepared for his sinful assault.

Slowly he breathed into her mouth… All the while she watched him like a hawk, controlling his movements as best she could by placing her hands on his sharp cheekbones. When he had pulled the last bit of breath from his lungs and into her own, he dared to stroke the tip of his tongue against her lips.

Mouth clamping shut, he all but shoved the mask to his face as he inhaled shakily, body crumpling to the floor, green fumes to puffing out around him like a cloud. The little minx had kneed him in the balls. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Fight or flight. A choice had to be made. Now.

Gabrielle fled the elevator.

Running at a sprint she darted around two men who were in a bloody brawl. She didn't stop, though. Didn't look back, not even when she heard Edward yell her name.

Lung's burning, she drew in a breath and choked, stumbling into a wall.

It was like napalm; the remnants of the gas coated her lungs and burned them, refusing to die down. Willing herself to go on, she ignored the exits the moment she saw a tell-tale sackcloth come into view. Turning sharply on her heel, she took a step forward and slammed into a brick wall. At least, that's what the man felt like.

Landing on her backside, she stared up at one of the camera men from the event.

Luke, that was his name, was standing above her, his camera broken and bloodied and held in an iron grip. With glazed eyes, he looked her over. Gritting his teeth menacingly, he advanced, forcing her to back away on her butt, too afraid to rise to her feet.

"L-luke," she pleaded. "It's me… G-Gabbie…"

"Shut up, bitch!"

Mouth snapping shut, Gabrielle double-timed her movements until she had backed into a bookshelf.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, huh? You think you can run out on me?!" He barked. "Bitch, I own your ass!" Eyes narrowing into slits, he took another threatening step forward. "You don't leave me unless I put you in a body bag."

Was his greatest fear his wife leaving him?

Not wasting time to find out, Gabrielle reached for her right boot. Rising up into a crouch, she looked passed Luke to the stairwell exit, knowing to be safe she would have to go back up and hide, keep moving in the building until the Scarecrow and his henchmen left.

"I didn't give you permission to move."

Gabrielle looked back at Luke. "I didn't ask."

Rage flashed in his eyes. Wildly Luke swing the camera high above his head and brought it down with all the strength he had in him. At the last second, Gabrielle flew forward, connecting her shoulder into his legs and sending him sprawling backward.

" _Never hit and run, Brie. You hit and keep hitting. If you don't have the time to keep hitting, you immobilize your opponent, then you run."_

A moment's hesitation nearly cost her life.

Luke clamped large hands around her throat and pulled her up, rolling over so that she was beneath him. Frantically she beat at his hands, losing her focus. "Games over now, bitch. Die," He roared, squeezing tighter. "Fucking. Die!"

Gripping the blade she had removed from her boot, she flicked opened the switchblade and brought it home. Viscously she stabbed him in his arm and pulled all the way down to his wrist. Blood spurt out onto her floor as Luke released her and reared back, screaming in agony.

Holding back the urge to vomit, she pulled herself from underneath his heavy frame and saw a flash of purple from the corner of her eye.

Heels clicked. Two shots were fired. Something warm and sticky hit the back of her head and neck.

The Joker had shot Luke.

Wide-eyed she watched as the Joker, clad in all his purple finery, knife and gun included, made his way toward her. Behind him were five men, none of who were garbed in neon like Scarecrow had mentioned, but wearing jeans and regular t-shirts. All of them armed to the T and not the slightest bit fazed by the madness that surrounded them. None of them wearing gas masks.

"The fumes aren't that strong," he rasped as though reading her mind.

Having heard the rumors on the street, that the Riddler and Scarecrow were out to take what was his, he had ignored them. After all, the Riddler just wanted to outwit the police and Scarecrow wanted to test his new toxin, or so he thought.

Had he known of Scarecrows desire to have Gabrielle out of revenge, he never would have broken his glasses that one—make that seven times during his stint in Arkham.

Foolishly Jack had chosen not to act out on their threat. Instead, he had instructed Gabrielle take her gun. Biting down on his scars he mentally slit his own throat. That instruction alone should have been all the warning he needed. _You should know better than most, Jackie boy, that no one is untouchable._

Gotham police were incompetent.

Not only had Jack fooled them once by masquerading as an Honor Guard member, but the Riddler had gotten so close as to be her bodyguard! And if that wasn't bad enough, the fucker had the gall to… kiss… her. Oh, he saw that when his man, IP, had hacked into the computer system and retrieved the camera footage. Riddler, that calculating, meddling ass-hat had sealed his grave. Silently Jack vowed to kill him, sever his head and form the bastards body into an everlasting question mark.

What's worse: being artfully tricked into kissing by the Riddler in order to survive a gas attack, or watching the Joker make his way toward you with murder in eyes?

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Joker."

Pulling her eyes away, Gabrielle looked to the right. Scarecrow and the Riddler stood side by side with at least a dozen men behind them.

"Who in their right mind would be afraid of a woolsack?" Jack snarled.

As though to answer his question, a heavyset man shuffled passed, looked at Scarecrow, yelped and fainted dead away.

The Joker stopped dead in his tracks. "Haha, aha ha ha!"

Still laughing, advancing once more, he raked back his acid green waves with the barrel of his Colt 45. "I most certainly, stand corrected." His giggles turned to an obsidian chuckle. "But you won't be standing for long."

"Pull the trigger and she'll die."

By this time Gabrielle, who had been crawling her way to the nearest exit, froze.

Removing his wool-sack Scarecrow brushed back his brown hair and turned hypnotic blue eyes to Gabrielle. "That was no antidote Edward gave you, but a toxin. Same as this," he said motioning to the continued madness around them, "only it works slower. And when it takes effect, and it will, the results are twice as lethal."

Looking back at the Joker, Scarecrow gave him an angelic smile that had Gabrielle shuddering. "Karma is a beautiful thing, Joker. You took my sight, and now I take the only thing _you_ can see. Her."

So focused on Scarecrows and Jokers exchange, she didn't even see the henchman who snuck up on her.

Strong arms latched onto her body and lifted her up. Screaming, she kicked wildly. "Cut the shit, Brie," a voice hissed into her ear.

The fight went out of her.

Turning her head slowly she stared into familiar golden brown eyes. Curtis. It was her… cousin. That's why he wasn't afraid of the Joker or making a move to leave Gotham, he was a part of it! No wonder he was never comfortable around the police and declined her sit down with her and Jack, he was… _How?_ Her mind screamed. _How could this have happened? And what would Jack think of it, knowing his best friend was a criminal, working for the very man she was terrified of._

Without another word, Curtis gripped her upper arm and tugged her across the invisible divider toward the Joker's side.

"I believe a lady should make her own choice," Riddler spoke up, pointing his gun at Curtis.

" **She's mine."**

Everyone ceased in their movements, no matter how small. No one moved or breathed. No one could drag their eyes away from the Joker who had uttered the dark claim.

"Everyone is aware of that," Scarecrow returned sarcastically. "After all, you didn't exactly hide your interest in her." He made a tsking sound. "Such a textbook mistake."

Jack fired his gun.

"Do you really think I care about losing one man?" Scarecrow inquired nonchalantly. "In a matter of hours, she'll succumb to the toxin in her system. All in all, she'll feel like she's having a heart attack and her greatest fears… It's not going to be a trick of the mind for her, Joker; she'll really believe it's happening. Whatever it is, whatever she fears, it will be there with her. Fear so terrifying that her mind may snap.

"That is, if you decide to keep her from me. Will her mental state return to normal on its own? As a medical professional I have to give my opinion and say, not a chance." Pausing he gave him a smug grin. "If memory serves, you do like to break your women, don't you? Do you want your novelist to be just like your Harley Quinn?

"By the way, where is she?" He asked innocently. "Dangling from the city bridge, beat up and cowering in an alley, or locked up in Arkham? I can never get it straight with you two."

Biting down hard on his scars, Joker hunched his shoulders forward, chin resting on his chest as he peered at the men through his brows.

"Subtract."

Faster than she could blink, the Joker's men fired. Trained marksmen, killers, they quickly gunned down the goons, leaving on the Riddler and Scarecrow. All this time the two criminals had been in charge, felt secure in their position. The Joker had pulled the rug out from under them in seconds.

"Ball sack, I mean Scarecrow, you'll be eating your own poison soon enough. As for _you_ ," he growled, glaring at the Riddler. "I'm going to take my time with you." He knew the Riddler's type. The man was an egomaniac, push him to the side and he would be begging for the Joker's attention, believing he could escape his clutches.

"Interesting theories, except if you were truly a threat you would kill us now," the Riddler taunted.

"Oh, I think she's seen enough bloodshed for today," the Joker stated with a shrug of his shoulders.

As if to prove his point, Gabrielle clamped her hand over her mouth. Adrenaline was wearing down, heart thumping, bile rising. Never could she stand the sight of blood, not after… She had stabbed someone. He had died. And his blood and quite possibly his brain was… Pitching forward, she threw up all over the floor.

"Ah, the toxin is working nicely," Scarecrow remarked as he looked at the blood that intermingled with her bile.

It would be a weakness to go to her.

Tasting blood, Joker bit harder on his scars. Everything in him told him to go to her, to pick her up all the floor, to keep her safe, and he couldn't move his feet. It was—would be a weakness. So he had to hear her vomiting, smell it. Hear her cries of anguish just like Curtis, 'cause he too couldn't show emotion.

"Did you really think your threats would get to me?" The Joker asked sardonically. "Yes, she's going to suffer, _for a while_ ," he drawled as her vomiting continued. "But unlike what you said, hacky sack, I don't like broken things. She'll heal. And when she does, trust me when I say she'll be the first to pump you full of bleach to see if we can drain the color from those eyes of yours."

It was a bold face lie. Gabrielle would never bend to his will or become like Harley Quinn. Harley had given up and succumbed to his demands because of her own darkness and his push. Gabrielle was a fighter. Fighters never stop fighting.

Pressing his lips into a firm line, Scarecrow nudged the Riddler when he heard sirens blare in the distance.

"I expected more of a fight from you, Joker. Though, I suppose I could thank you. Now I know your emotions run deeper than I had previously thought, which is why your keeping us alive. We both have leverage, tak that away and our unspoken deal is void.

"The symptoms will become worse, you know, and I expect to hear from you in… a few hours' time. Until then, have a care, Joker. Get well soon, Miss Danis," he threw over his shoulder. "I look forward to acting on my words from earlier."

Turning on his heel, the Riddler followed Scarecrow out and paused suddenly.

Looking back, he saw four of the five goons completely at ease with the situation. Only the man who had pulled her back and the Joker appeared to be tense. It was just barely there, the tension in their shoulders, but he saw it clear as day.

"Riddle me this, Gabrielle." Though his words were for her, he looked directly at Joker. "Who steps into the present, but keeps the past and future from colliding?"

* * *

 _Please leave a review!_


	5. A Light in the Dark

**Author's Note:** This is an incredibly long chapter, 27 pages, over 10K words. Please pace yourself! Also, do not take offense to the language, themes used in this chapter. It's a work of fiction. ***** Evan Peters is the face for Eric, and O'Shea Jackson Jr will be the face of Curtis. Also, my art-board has been updated on Pinterest, so check it out to see what inspired this chapter.

 _Asilem Denae,_ thank you for the beautiful review. This chapter is for you. Enjoy!

* * *

 **A Light in the Dark**

 _Let's rewind the clocks._ _Los Angeles, CA 1996._

Gabrielle awoke with a start.

Clutching her Power Ranger blanket in a death grip, she scanned her bedroom. At just seven years old, her nightlight was in full force and she could just make out the tiny desk in the corner, a mound of teddy bears and coloring books beside it, and—Bang! Crying out she threw the covers over her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

Nothing more than a trembling mound, she cried out, "Granny!"

"Granny!" she cried louder, too afraid to leave her safe haven. "Granny, help!"

For the first time in her life, her rescuer didn't come barging in to soothe her fears.

Forcing one eye open she stared into the darkness. Heart in her throat, she said a prayer and risked sudden death by inching her hand out of the blanket. Slowly she snaked her tiny hand along the bed, clutching at frilly pillows and air.

When the wind howled she snapped her hand back.

"Granny!"

" _You know, baby, one day you'll have to face your fears on your own, show those monsters who's boss. Now, now, don't look so sad, suga. You can do it. You're braver than you think."_

Groaning, she contemplated all the evil, vile things that could be outside her window: the abominable snowman, a werewolf, or even worse, a ventriloquist doll. Suddenly it wasn't so wise to read Goosebumps before bedtime.

Forcing herself to be brave Gabrielle took a deep breath in, and kicked off the blankets with a scream, flinging herself to the nightstand where she snatched up her flashlight and dove into her teddy bears for cover.

Light spilled forth, the beam darting around frantically as she searched the room for any sign of trouble. Finding none she fell back onto her teddy bears with a sigh, heartbeat finally returning to normal. But that lasted for only a minute. The second she realized that the thing outside, whatever it was, could come back, she charged forth from her cover of stuffed protection.

Quick like a whip she threw open her bedroom door and raced to her grandmother's bedroom.

"Granny, granny, there was…" She trailed off, light shining on an empty bed.

Hearing the sound of the television she turned on her heel and made her way down the hallway. One hand clutched the flashlight, the other the hem of her Rugrats pajama, which proudly displayed Susie, her favorite character.

"Grandma?" She called softly. Peeking around the corner she looked down the stairs and saw the faint glow of the television spilling out into the hallway.

"Tune in next week, on Unsolved Mysteries," the television host stated, his voice barely audible over her grandmother's snoring as she dozed on the couch.

Some protector she proved to be!

Realizing that it was better to share the couch than to sleep alone, Gabrielle made the first steps toward her grandmother and froze when she heard a cry.

Snapping her head to the side, she tiptoed her way into the kitchen, shivering when her feet touched the cold linoleum floor. Biting her lower lip, she flashed light on the window; outside the wind continued to howl, tree branches scratching against the glass.

"Don't be scared, don't be scared," she repeated to herself. Coming closer to the back door, she stood on tiptoe and moved back the curtain, peering out from the corner.

A faint glow of the porch light illuminated the back steps, but no more. Feeling the burn in her toes, she pressed her face into the glass, breath fogging up the window as she tried to locate the cause of the cry, no longer frightened, but a little Nancy Drew.

"Hmm," she hummed. "Maybe there's no monsters after all."

Just as she placed her feet back on the floor another cry reached her ears.

Gasping, Gabrielle reached for the knob and stopped herself. How many times had her grandmother told her never to open the door for strangers, to always ask who it was first, better yet to come and get her if the doorbell rang or someone knocked? Too many to count. Now she was thinking about opening the door and going outside—at night! With the ventriloquist dolls, werewolves, and abominable snowman!

Wringing the hem of her nightgown in her hand, she debated the situation. She could go back and wake up her granny, but there was no telling how long that would take, as she was a heavy sleeper, or… She could do what her grandmother said and finally face her fears.

Mind made up, she reached for the rolling pin on the countertop, remembering how her grandmother had chased off a group of teenage boys with it and made her way back to the door.

The door opened slowly.

Cool night air blew back her nightgown and twin afro puffs. One hand gripping the flashlight, the other holding the rolling pin like it a club, she stood on the top step of the back porch and gazed across the backyard. Swallowing with a gulp, she shined her light over her surroundings: the trashcan, her grandmother's black Cadillac, gardening equipment, and a worn sneaker.

The second her light hit the sneaker Gabrielle heard a gasp and watched as the shoe snapped back out of sight, hiding in between the lawnmower and the bag granny used to rake up the leaves. Spying a flash of blonde curls, she watched as that too disappeared out of sight.

"Hey! You're… you're not supposed to be here."

"If you don't leave," she threatened, inching closer, "I'm gonna tell my grandma."

A terrified voice rang out in the night. "I-I'm s-s-s-sorry!"

Immediately her sense of bravado fled her tiny body at the helpless cry.

Rolling pin lowering to her side, she approached the person slowly. More intrigued than frightened, she stopped right by the lawnmower, eyeing the tip of the worn black and white converse sneakers. Gnawing at her lower lip, she leaned down and shined her light inside the opening…

Pushed back as far as he could go, the boy, who appeared just as old as she, had folded into himself, knees up to his chest, head down, arms wrapped tightly around his legs. A tangled mop of blonde curls shook as did his shoulders, breath hitching with his fear.

"Were you the one makin' all that noise?"

The boy didn't answer if anything, his shaking increased.

Kneeling down, she set her rolling pin beside her. Briefly, she looked back to the open back door, hearing the distant echo of her grandmother's snores.

"It's ok," she hushed when the boy sniffled. "I won't hurt you."

"Y-you said your g-g-grandma…"

"Oh, well, she would—but only if you're bad," she rushed to say. Scooting closer, she asked, "Why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

The boy didn't answer.

"What's your name?"

Again there was no response.

Precious time ticked by as Gabrielle set there before him, unsure of what to do.

Suddenly, she had an idea.

"I'm afraid of the dark too," she whispered. "Sometimes I even cry. This will help," she told him. "It makes the monsters disappear."

Blonde curls shifted as he turned his head slightly to peer down by his side. "It's just a flashlight," he stated, voice hoarse from crying.

"Yeah, but it's a Power Ranger flashlight," she retorted. "So monsters don't stand a chance."

The boy was silent a moment before he asked, "But what about the m-monsters that don't go away?"

That put her in a pickle. Every time she thought she saw or heard a monster the flashlight did the trick.

Feeling something nudge his shoe, the boy lifted his head to look at his feet. The rolling pin stared back.

"One time, I saw my grandma chase away a group of boys with it. At first, they laughed, but then she waved it around, and then they got scared. So it's pretty strong too." She paused for a moment, lips puckered in contemplation. "You can use both of em."

Gabrielle watched as he placed his shoe on the rolling pin, rolling it back and forth underneath his sneaker. "I think my monsters are too big," he confessed despondently.

"Then I'll help you fight em."

As though those were the magic words, the boy met her gaze for the first time.

Eyes widening, Gabrielle looked at him in shock. The boy had a black eye, a bloody nose, and cut lip. Not only was he bleeding, but he was filthy, dirt smudges on his cheek and hands, clothes torn in some places.

"What happened?" Gabrielle asked horrified. "Did someone hurt you? They did, didn't they—that's why your hidin'. Was it a bully?"

Ashamed and self-conscious of his appearance, the boy ducked his head, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, wincing when he came into contact with his cut mouth.

"Tell me-" she cut off, crying out in unison with the boy when the wind picked up. "Come on," she told him, holding out her hand. "Let's go inside."

The boy eyed her hand and then looked back at her. "It's alright," she persisted. "I won't let you get hurt anymore. I promise."

She had eyes as dark as midnight, yet they shone like the dawn with the force of her promise.

Steadily her eyes shined, glowing when his hand settled into her own. Gently she tugged, backing up as he crawled out of his hiding place on his knees, the rolling pin and flashlight clutched to his heart.

Together they made their way back inside, Gabrielle locking the door behind them.

"What's that noise?" He asked fearfully, backing up until he bumped into the door.

"Oh, that's just my grandma. She snores."

The boy's eyes, if possible, widened even more. "She's loud."

Gabrielle nodded head in agreement. "Are you hungry?"

Stomach growling, the boy quickly nodded his head. "Yea."

"I'm not allowed to use the stove," she told him, "or the microwave. Mmm, I can make PB&J. Oh! There's some sweet potato pie, too!"

"What's sweet potato pie?"

Gabrielle looked at the boy as if he had sprouted a second head. "You don't know what sweet potato pie is?" She asked incredulously. Nervous he shifted his feet, giving a slight shake of his head. "Well, it's really good. My grandma makes it all the time. And it must be the best 'cause people always want some—not a slice, but a whole pie," she exclaimed making a large circle with her hands.

"…can I try it?"

Gabrielle beamed at him. "Yeah!"

Grabbing an entire loaf of bread, the jar of peanut butter and jelly, and a spoon as she couldn't use the knives without granny, she balanced it on one whole sweet potato pie. Cradling all their loot haphazardly on one arm, she took hold of his hand again.

He clasped her hand, tension leaving his body.

Trusting in her completely, he followed her through the house. Briefly, he paused, looking at the older African American woman on the couch, watching the way her round belly went up and down as she slept the night away.

"Is that your grandma?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Sure is."

"She's big."

Gabrielle wasn't the slightest bit miffed by his words. "It's 'cause she's filled with love."

Slowly he tilted his head to the side, an odd look coming over his face. "…filled with love?" He asked softly. "But you said she would get a switch."

"She would."

"But…"

"Bad people," she told him. "Granny only gets the switch for bad people, everyone else gets the shoe!"

"The shoe?" He asked following her up the stairs and down the hallway.

"Mhm," she answered flicking the light on. Closing the door behind them, she sat down on the hardwood floor, placing their loot between the both of them. "If someone like my cousin talk's back, she throws the shoe. It doesn't hurt, though."

"And she's still filled with love?" He asked, trying to understand.

"Yup. Gives lots of hugs and kisses. And she's the one who told me about the flashlight and the monsters, says that all the darkness in the world can't extinguish the light of a single candle."

The boy looked down, truly appreciating the strength in her flashlight now. "What about the rolling pin."

She told him the story of how her grandmother chased off a group of boys with it while rummaging through her toys and pulling her lavender backpack free.

"And she wasn't afraid?" He asked.

"Nope," she answered, zipping her backpack open and dumping its contents on the floor. "Yelled at em and had em runnin' down the street."

"Wow," he breathed. "She's not afraid of anything, is she?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "Nope," she said with pride. "Not even monsters."

Sitting down beside him, she opened a small package, revealing a floral Band-Aid. Squinting her eyes, she looked at his face, unsure of where exactly to put it. "Hold still," she instructed.

Trusting, he did as she asked.

When all was said and done, he had three bandages: one on his eyebrow where he had a black eye, another next to the corner of his mouth, and across his nose. "Oh, almost forgot!" Leaning down she kissed each Band-Aid.

"W-whats that do?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Grandma says kisses makes you heal faster."

"Oh," he stated, as though it made perfect sense. And perhaps it did.

Making one sandwich, she handed it to him, peanut butter and jelly oozing out on all sides.

Setting his weapons close by, he eagerly held out his hands for the sandwich. Licking his lips, he made to take a bite and stopped. "Do I… Is it all mine?"

Not truly understanding, she simply nodded her head. "Yeah. You can have another if you want, granny keeps more bread in the freezer."

"Why the freezer?" He asked around a mouthful.

"I don't know," she answered confused herself. "Maybe it tastes better that way?"

Swallowing his food, he agreed wholeheartedly. "I think you're right. It tastes really good."

"Where you from?" She asked, making her own sandwich next, the contents going everywhere but where it needed to be. "You don't talk like people around here."

"Texas."

"Really? Did you have a farm with lots of animals, like pigs and chickens, and horses?" Her eyes widened into the size of saucers. "Have you ever rode a horse before?"

More comfortable than before, he gave a slight smile. But just as quickly as it came, it was lost. "We had a farm, but… My daddy lost it. So we had to move."

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she smacked away. "You had to leave all your animals?" She asked sadly.

Ducking his head, the boy chewed at his bottom lip, before nodding his head.

"I'm sorry."

Having nothing to say, he finished his sandwich in record time. When he eyed hers, Gabrielle handed it over without question.

"What's your name?" She asked, hoping, this time, he would answer. "My name's Gabrielle," she said cutting into the sweet potato pie next.

"Brielle?" He repeated in his southern drawl, not hearing the first part.

"Hahaha, no! Gabrielle," she corrected. The boy flushed, cheeks tinting pink in embarrassment.

Offering him a rather large slice of pie, she sat back on her haunches, waiting for him to try it.

Suddenly feeling pressured, he looked at her then at the odd concoction before him. It was golden brown, a bit orange too, and it smelled good. Really, really good.

"Told ya," she sang when his eyes lit up. "You like it?"

He took another mouthful and nodded his head frantically. "May I have some more?"

"Help yourself." And he did.

"So what's your name?" She asked when their appetites had been appeased.

Fumbling with the rolling pin in his hands, he answered, "Jackson David."

"Two names?" she stated in surprise.

"Mhm, named after my daddy." At the mention, his face scrunched up, but she didn't notice.

"Jackson David," she mumbled to herself, liking the way it sounded. "I like it."

"Your name is pretty," he stated, ears tinting pink once more.

"Thank you," she replied with a yawn, rubbing at her eyes. "Are you sleepy?" She asked yawning once again.

Stomach full, he had to admit that he was feeling a bit tired as well. "Yes."

Rising up from the ground, Gabrielle went to the light switch. "Flick on the light," she told him, still deathly afraid of the dark. When he turned on the flashlight, she switched off the lights and all but ran to the bed. Pulling back the covers, she crawled underneath them.

"Jackson David?" She called.

He lifted his head from the floor. "Do I—do I need to sleep outside?" He asked low, not wanting to be out in the cold, especially when it was warm inside.

"No. We can share."

Jackson David made to get in the bed and stopped, kicking off his shoes. Settling down next to her, he placed the rolling pin and flashlight between then.

"Still scared?" She asked.

"Just a little," he admitted.

Without a word, she held out her hand. He clasped it without a moment's hesitation. "Better?"

"Yeah," he answered with a grin. "Much better."

Sleepily she looked at his odd amber eyes, and then to the bandaids. "I'll be your friend, Jackson David. I'm not scared of monsters." Yawning again, she snuggled into her pillow. "I'll help you fight them…"

Jackson David watched as Gabrielle closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. A few times things went bump in the night, but no matter what, she didn't let go of his hand. Pressing the side of his face into the pillow, he held onto the flashlight in one hand, remembering what she said about the light and darkness, and smiled fully. More than light being a comfort, he now had her, a friend. A friend who wasn't afraid of monsters.

 **xXx**

 _Present Time._

Blood dripped into the bathroom sink.

Hands flat on the counter, Jack watched as ruby droplets splattered on the white porcelain, his mind caught between the past and present. Biting his scars, he blinked, gaze lifting to the mirror. Nearly a dozen images stared back. Similar to the day he and Brie had first met, he bore the same injuries: a cut lip, a bloody nose, and the makings of a real shiner.

For a minute he looked at the many faces of himself, at all the masks that he wore: ex-soldier, a hired gun, Agent of Chaos… friend.

Snapping his eyes away from the mirror, he looked down at his clothing. Having shrugged out of his vest and shirt, he remained in blood-stained purple trousers, green suspenders, and a black tank top. Just looking at the blood—her blood on his trousers was enough to make his blood boil.

Biting back a growl, he turned on the faucet, kicking the pipes once, twice, a third time to get it going.

As the water ran he perched on the edge of a black claw foot tub and began the process of removing glass shards from his left hand.

Each shard clanked into the metal trash bin, reminding him of his failure. Teeth clamping down on his scars, he inhaled deeply, eyes narrowing as he tried to focus on the task at hand. Only when he began to feel lightheaded did he exhale, not drawing another breath until his vision blurred.

 _Tragic circumstances have always been in play when it comes to Gabrielle and me._

 _With my chosen profession as a career criminal I should find the humor in my situation, right? After all, black comedy is my game. Wrong._

 _Now don't get me wrong, I'm the giggle at a funeral, but when it comes to her… When it comes to Gabrielle laughter is no longer a coping mechanism. With her, I am not forced to feel but choose it willingly. Violence is no longer my one finger salute to the world, and pain and suffering are what it should have always been: harmful, tragic._

 _What I'm trying to say is this: that I'll laugh at the world, but will weep for her._

 _No one else receives that sentiment._

 _And as sad as it may be to say, I know what's coming. Despite the separation between us, there has been no time lost. I can read her like a book. We've shared many things together: PB & J with flashlights and rolling pins, movie hoping, a first kiss—that I happily tricked her into, as I could not stand the idea of her kissing anyone first or anyone at all—and, the fear of… monsters. _

_I'm not ashamed to say that I have a certain sentimental attachment to her, I'll even give it a name and call it what it is: love. But more than love being the glue that connects us, we have a mutual fear, a shared memory of a muggy evening._

 _Even now I can feel the humidity in the air, see the gleam of the blunt knife as it comes toward me, and hear the slosh of liquid in a whiskey bottle…_

Jack quickly inhaled.

Drawing air deep into his lungs, he gingerly pressed the back of his hand, searching for the slightest bump. Detecting another, he flicked open his switchblade and cut into his skin, flushing out the last piece of glass.

Satisfied, he stood up and made his way back to the sink, turning off the faucet with seconds to spare. Thrusting his hand into the water he savored the sting. Haphazardly he opened the medicine cabinet overhead, oblivious to the glass that fell.

Grabbing a small bottle of saline he poured it over his injury.

Digging into his back pocket he removed a worn powder blue handkerchief, and wrapped it around his wound.

Just as he fastened a knot, there was a knock at the door.

Shaggy blonde hair blew back as the door opened. Eric, Jack's baby-faced killer, shifted in his Vans, bouncing his weight from foot to foot. As much as Jack loved the title, it was undeserving, that's to say, it had been given to Eric by the media. One kill didn't make you a killer, especially if it was in self-defense.

Though they were separated by years and grew up on opposite sides of the country, they were kindred spirits: both born into a world that didn't want them, with pain and abuse being the first lesson they learned. So while he wasn't exactly part of "the crew," every villain needed a mascot and that's where Eric came in.

"What is it?"

Hands stuffed into his pockets, Eric shook his hair back in a way that had Jack arching a brow.

"That girl of yours," Eric began, shifting on his feet once more, "she's awake. And I know it's none of my business on account that you tell me to shut up and mind my panel all the time, but she's talking to-"

"Clean up the bathroom," Jack called over his shoulder, pushing the young man aside.

"Dude, really?" Eric complained, looking at the mess that covered the floor. "Come on, bro, I just finished cleaning the living room and the kitchen!"

Jack wasn't moved in the slightest by Eric's plight. "Clean it."

"One more thing." Pausing before the staircase, Jack turned suddenly on his heel, making his way back to Eric. He smacked Eric upside the back of his head. "I'm not your damn bro, kid."

What young man, by blood or not, doesn't hold a torch for his elder, especially one who was so damn enigmatic?

Rubbing at the back of his head, Eric glared at Jack's broad back, wanting to snicker, yet knowing he didn't have anywhere to run if he did. Rolling his eyes, he looked back to the bathroom and cursed. "Shit!"

"And watch your goddamn mouth!"

Having first set his sights on Gotham years ago, Jack had acquired a series of abandoned brownstones located on the outskirts of Midtown. With the help of his best friend Curtis, they had torn down walls, combining four brownstones into one. While they kept the original brickwork, the two center brownstones had been painted over in black, complete with a purple door and tinted windows; it stuck out like a sore thumb, but no one ventured out far enough to see it.

The first level of the home was kept bare, giving the men who lived there the upper hand in case they had unwanted guests. After that, it was all hardwood floors, brick walls, and random pieces of furniture. Oddly enough it was a man cave with a unique sense of style: modern meets homicidal bohemian.

Yet still, with his day job, there was still much to be done in terms of repair.

Generally, when he walked his home a mental to-do list came to mind: check on the plumbing, patch the holes in the wall, fix the creak in the fifth step of the second-floor staircase. Now that he had more pressing matters, that list went straight to hell.

Walking down the hallway, he absentmindedly fixed a Navajo vase, setting it directly in the center of a wooden table, needing something to do with his hands. Satisfied he continued on.

Hearing a low murmur, he placed his hand on the doorknob, ear pressed to the door. "P-please, I don't want to die here."

His knees nearly gave out.

Only three hours had passed since the incident. Enough time for Gabrielle to vomit her own blood, grow delirious with fever, and—much to her mortification—lose control of her bowels. All of the henchmen save for Curtis had been executed. It was simply too much of a risk for them to see Jack care for her.

 **xXx**

"Drive faster!"

Hauling ass through Midtown, Jack gripped the steering wheel of his Emerald Ford Bronco SVT Raptor, body tense, eyes scanning the street. "One more time," he fumed, slamming his foot on the pedal and clipping the coat tails of a screaming j-walker. "Yell at me one more fuckin' time, and I swear to God…"

Head pounding, Gabrielle couldn't hear anything except for the ringing in her ears. Moaning in pain, she wrapped her arms around her middle, tucking into the fetal position as shooting pain began in her abdomen.

"Aw, baby girl," Curtis said wiping at the sweat on her brow.

As though she weighed less than nothing, he pulled her more firmly onto his lap. "S-she's not looking good." Blood and vomit were splattered on her clothing, her complexion paling, a sickly hue coming over her.

"Fuck," Curtis breathed. "Fuck!" He shouted. "How much longer till we get to the hospital?"

Jack answered by cutting the corner, nearly making Curtis smack his head against the glass.

The movement proved too much for Gabrielle; she vomited on the floor.

"How much longer!?" Curtis bellowed, rubbing her back, completely helpless on how to best care for her.

The two men locked eyes in the rearview mirror.

"No. Naw, man, don't even play," Curtis began, needing no words to translate _that_ look. "She just needs a doctor."

This time the gloves Jack wore squeaked as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. "No hospital," Jack rasped.

Not only would taking Gabrielle to the hospital land them all in jail but as of to date, there was no known cure for Scarecrow's fear toxin. The best the medical staff could do was make her "comfortable," load her up on pain killers until the world blended into one color: black.

"No hospitals," Jack rasped. "It won't do any good."

The bronco skidded to the right, smashing into the side of parks cars.

"Son of a bitch!" Jack roared.

Enraged Curtis had kicked the back of the driver seat, the force making Jack's face slam into the wheel and lose control.

One hand on the wheel, Jack reached his arm back, dodging through traffic, swatting at Curtis' legs. "Stop that! I said stop—you want me to crash!?"

"Take us. To. The motha fuckin' hospital," Curtis said through clenched teeth. "You heard what Scarecrow said—look, we only have two options, man: Scarecrow or the hospital. I'm choosin' the hospital. Now take us there!"

"She's gonna die," Curtis wailed when she began to convulse.

Jacks' voice was absolute. "She's not. Going. To Die."

The nauseating scent of her blood and bile filled his nostrils, making his stomach roll and throat close up. _Don't die,_ he told himself, sneaking glances at her from the rearview mirror. _Don't die, Brie, don't you die on me._ _Hold on, baby…_

"My cousins gonna die, man. She's gonna—hey. Look at me, baby girl. That's right. Just stay with me. I got you."

Gabrielle stared into familiar golden brown eyes. Everything hurt: her head was pounding, eyes sore and puffy from her tears, bones aching. Weak she reached out, clutching the front of Curtis' shirt. "Am I-I going to d-die?"

Five words formed into two daggers that stabbed both men right in the heart.

"No, Brie!" They shouted in unison. Jack cringed when her nickname slipped. His mistake was wasted on her.

"It h-hurts so b-bad," she told him.

"…if she dies…"

"I told you, she won't die."

"…I'll kill you."

A tense silence passed over them.

Cutting down another alley, Jack nodded his head. "Alright," he said. "If she dies, you can kill me."

That was a lie. Truth be told if she died Jack would already be dead. Curtis wouldn't have to kill him, he'd simply fall into himself and never return.

Gabrielle moved her lips.

Not hearing her, Curtis leaned down, ear poised right about her mouth. "S-stop," she whispered softly.

"Stop," she said louder, eyes darting around the backseat. "No. Please—you'll kill—stop!"

Not even a full hour in and delirium had already set in.

This time, when their eyes met in the review mirror, Curtis was pleading. "Please. Just take her to the hospital. She's the only family I've got—only one who's been good to me—to us." A single tear fell from his eyes. "Don't let her go out like this, J."

Jack tore his eyes away from the mirror.

Speeding through the alley, he made a sharp right and started on the road toward home. "I said, no."

 **xXx**

Eventually, they had arrived home. Having said to hell with the façade the moment her fears began to manifest, Jack had all but snatched her from Curtis' hold. Like two bulls in a china shop, they tore through the house, tripping over furniture, each other. Poor Eric had merely been barked at, darting to and fro as he followed orders.

With his own hands, Jack wiped away the foul residue that clung to her lips. Even when she batted away his hands, seeing double, cursing him and crying out to God in the same breath, he remained by her side. He even went so far as to shed her soiled clothing and bathe her, dressing her with Curtis, the two men taking turns watching over her.

It was then when she had passed out that a calm settled over and the men went to war.

"I'm not a fool, Jack. I look at her and I know she's dying. Most people don't even come back from the lower dosage of that fear toxin, and she's been given something else completely!" Taking a deep breath, he looked Jack in the eye and said, "I can't sit here and let her suffer. I can't-"

Turning away, Curtis clenched and unclenched his hands. Drawing in another breath, he wiped his hand down his face. "I can't stand by and watch her die. Not her. Not like this when something can be done to at least take the pain away—I. Move. It's not up for discussion, you're not her blood, I am. And I'm taking her to the hospital. Now move the hell out my way, Jack."

Jack stood blocking the door to his bedroom. "No."

"No?" Curtis repeated as though he had heard him incorrectly. "No," he repeated once more. "In case you have forgotten, that's my blood in there. Gabrielle needs a doctor. Not you, not me, not some kid running around with his head up his ass, but a doctor who will do all they can to save her life. If we don't bring her to one she's not going to make it through the night."

"Do you think I want this for her, Curtis? I don't." Licking his lips, Jack violently raked his hands through his hair.

"A hospital," Jack began calmly, "won't save her life. You weren't in Arkham with him, I was. There's no cure. All they can do is drug her—drug her so much that her heart will stop.

"We ride it out," he told him. "Scarecrow… He's obsessed with fear, not death. Look, listen, when I was in Arkham I overheard him tell Edward that he was immune to his toxin. And he would be," Jack stated, "he makes the toxin himself, injects it himself, he can handle it to a certain point.

"Edward is his right-hand man, there's no way he gave Edward the same toxin as Brie. Ivy—remember Poison Ivy? She's immune to a lot of things, even got Harley to build up a resistance."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that maybe there is no lethal dosage, no potent formula. Maybe, like Harley, Edward was given small amounts of the toxin to build his immune system. How else could he not have succumbed to the same symptoms?"

It was a gamble: was the toxin truly of greater potency, or wasn't it?

Curtis shook his head slowly. "I can't take that risk."

"You're not thinking clearly."

"Oh, I'm the only one thinking clearly. What do you expect from her Jack? To be made of steel? She's already wasting away, seeing things, people who aren't there. Is that how you want her to die, afraid and out of her mind?

"Look, I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. I'm going to go in there, get my cousin, put her in the bronco, and take her to the hospital so that the last few hours of her life aren't spent in pain."

Noble intentions, right? Well, Jack didn't think so. Curtis only managed two steps before the first punch was thrown.

 **xXx**

"Please, Curtis."

Coming out of his stupor, Jack tightened his grip on the doorknob. Peering over to the right his eyes fell to the closed door were Curtis still lay passed out and handcuffed to the radiator.

"Help me," Gabrielle said as Jack turned back to the door. "Please help me, Curt."

The door opened and closed without a sound.

Standing with his back to the door, Jack felt as though he had been suckered punched. The lights in his room had been dimmed, Gabrielle lay in his bed clutching the black duvet, eyes rooted to the empty chair beside her.

"Please," she begged, tears running down her face. "Just let me go. You heard what Scarecrow said, I'm g-going to lose my m-mind." Choking on a sob, she wiped at her eyes. "Please, Curt. J-just take me the hospital—home. Home," she said once more. "You don't even have to t-take me to the hospital, you can t-take me h-home. Anywhere but here. S-someone where I can b-be with y-you and j-jack. So that I c-can say g-goodbye."

If that didn't tear his soul apart, nothing else he faced would.

The bed dipped.

Heart leaping into her throat, Gabrielle snapped her head to the side. Her pupils were so dilated that even the slivers of light were blinding. Blinking rapidly, she clutched at the duvet with both hands, back pressing deeper into the bed.

"W-who is that?" She asked fearfully. "N-no, no!" She cried, trying to shimmy away from him, to make it to the edge of the bed. "C-Curtis, help. Don't leave me alone. Don't let him hurt me! Don't-"

"Don't let who hurt you, _Brielle_?"

The deep yet soft timbre calm her rapid heartbeat. "J-jack?"

Carefully, so as not to frighten her further, Jack scooted further along the bed. "The one and only, darlin'."

Gabrielle looked around confused, head spinning once more. "B-but h-how? I'm not—I was taken…"

"Shhh, shh," he hushed. Gently he positioned himself so that his back rested against the headboard and she sat between his outstretched legs. Wrapping his arms around her body, he kissed the top of her head.

"You were taken," he told her.

"Then how…?"

"The Riddler took you," he began, rubbing her head soothingly. "The Joker tried to make off with you, but the cops closed in. He had no choice but to leave you behind. In fact, you're at the hospital. You've been coming in and out of it, darlin', but don't you worry, 'cause you're gonna pull through."

The lies tore him apart yet built him back together again.

Gabrielle was so far gone that her mind was already envisioning sterile linens, bright fluorescents lights of Gotham City Hospital. Every second blink brought the false vision of the hospital, and every third, her dark reality of a comfy bed and dimmed lighting.

"Am I r-really… J-jack is it really you?"

Pressing his face against her, he rubbed his scarred cheek against her own. "Feel me."

Releasing the covers, she clutched at his arms, which were still wrapped around her tight. "Oh my God, I'm so g-glad it's you. I thought I was with the Joker!" She cried in relief, making his heart drop and soar at the same time.

Bursting into tears, she sagged against him, savoring all that she could feel. "I want to see you, but my eyes… It hurts."

"Just rest," he commanded softly. "I'm not leaving you, and you're not leaving me. Rest your eyes."

"I love you," she whispered.

His grip on her tightened.

"I love you, too, honey." _Always have._

Gabrielle's hand traveled along his arm. Reaching back, she touched his cheek, feeling the moisture. "Are you cryin' for me, Joker?"

"You know me better than that," he told her. "No need to cry when nothing's going to happen."

"But that's not what Scarecrow-" She broke off, flinching when a ray of light exploded in the room. Shielding her eyes, she asked, "Is that…?"

"Mhm," he said flicking the old Power Ranger flashlight on and off. "The one and only," he told her. "I still have the rolling pin, too!"

Gabrielle laughed even though it hurt. "Hahaha!"

Turning the flashlight off, Jack placed it in her hands.

"All this time you kept it. Why?"

For a moment he was silent. Face still pressed against her own, he shifted his position slightly, breath her in, taking the masculine scent of his soap and shampoo that he used on her deep into his lungs.

"The darkest times cause for the brightest of lights."

Lips close by her ear, he added, "I know what scares you, Brie. I was there." Her breath hitched, bottom lip quivering. "You're not going to go through it alone," he promised. "I'm going to experience it right alongside you, and you know what's going to happen?" She shook her head, unable to answer him. "We're gonna come out on top, just like the first time. Only this time…" He took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. "…this time, I'm going to save you."

"But you…"

"A save that's long lasting," he added. "So nothing else hurts you ever again."

And just like that, the clocks began to rewind, going back a decade.

Body growing feverish, Gabrielle felt Jack press a single kiss to her brow and closed her eyes. When they opened next, she was just fifteen years old, standing on her dearest friend's front porch step.

 **xXx**

Squaring her shoulders, Gabrielle knocked on the door. Quickly she jumped back, making sure to put distance between herself and the man who would answer.

"Who is it?!"

Just the sound of that voice was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"It's Gabrielle," she answered, pleased when her voice didn't shake. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but I came to see if Jack—Jackson David," she hastily corrected, "was available."

Heavy footsteps sound.

Opening the door, Jackson David Sr. leaned against the door frame. He wasn't a bad looking man, which she supposed made him even more fearsome in a way, as he could be charming if need be. Though middle-aged, he was fit, with jet black hair, and the same amber eyes as Jack, though the gold flecks in his eyes were a bit more pronounced.

"Well, what do we have here," he sang, Texan accent still going strong.

Rudely, he looked Gabrielle over, eyes drifting over her beige shorts, navy shirt, and white converse, her hair long and in a thick French braid down her back. "Look at you, girl, fillin' out quite nice," he said, his gaze lingering on her shapely legs.

Instantly she regretted her choice of attire, wishing she had worn jeans and a damn parka despite the heat.

"Thank you, sir," she replied tersely, knowing it wouldn't be wise to bait him.

"Tell me somethin', how old are you now?"

This time, she couldn't suppress her shiver. "Fifteen," she whispered, struggling to hold his gaze.

"That right? Hell, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you were already a woman." His lewd gaze rose to her pert breasts before dropping back to her legs. "But still, you don't have much to go before you get there…"

Gabrielle gasped in outrage.

"Oh, calm yourself, girl, I'm just playing," he sang, giving her a smile that had won over as many hearts as it destroyed. "Just jokes is all. Here, I'll even call my boy for you." Fake smile in place, he called, "Junior!"

Having waited in the dark just a few feet away, Jack appeared at once. "Yes, sir?"

His father hitched his chin toward Gabrielle. "This sweet little daisy wanted to have a word with you."

Controlling as always, Jack's father remained leaning on the doorway as Jack stepped outside to speak with Gabrielle. Though he couldn't say it with his words, his eyes were already apologizing. Profusely.

"Hey, Brie," he spoke softly.

"Hello, Joker."

Smiling sincerely, Gabrielle looked at Jack a moment before returning her attention where it mattered most in the moment: his father.

"Well, sir, seeing as it is the start of summer, I was wondering if Jackson David would be allowed to spend time with my family this evening? We're all going to the beach and then to a late night movie. My grandmother would be present to make sure there's no mischief," she added. "I'll be sure to have him home no later than nine."

"How can I refuse the request of such a pretty young woman?"

Irritated to high hell, Jack clenched his jaw. It was infuriating, insulting, to say the least, to have every conversation spoken through his goddamn father. Worse than that, he knew he would have to beg.

Swallowing his pride, Jack turned around. "May I, sir?"

His father didn't even look his way. "Well, it is the start of summer… I reckon it would be alright."

Gabrielle couldn't even hide her joy.

"Easy now, honey, you smile at me like that again and I'll have to bridge that gap we spoke of earlier."

Never had her smile dropped so fast.

Glaring at the ground, Gabrielle nervously tucked a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her braid behind her ear.

"Go get your swimsuit, boy."

How could one person be so torn? Jack was elated at having the majority of the day with his friends, away from his father, but to have it he would have to leave his father alone again with Gabrielle. And he knew how his father was, saw the way he looked at her…

"Yes, sir." Turning on his heel, Jack walked calmly inside the house and all but hauled ass once he was out of sight.

"Uh-oh," Jackson David exclaimed suddenly. "Got something stuck in your hair there, honey. Come here so I can get it out for you."

As though she hadn't heard his last words Gabrielle brushed her hair. "Did I get it?" She asked with a nervous smile. "Thanks for-"

"Still there," he interrupted. "Let me help."

Pushing away from the doorframe, he made his way toward her with long, measured steps. Unable to take the look in his eyes, Gabrielle lowered her gaze to his chest, burning a hole through his white shirt.

"My word, you sure are a pretty little thing," he complimented, reaching for her braid. Taking it in his hand, he ran his thumb along it, marveling at the softness.

"I don't see anything in my hair," she stated quickly, leaning back to as to put distance between them. "I think I got it out."

"No. It's right there." He leaned down above her. The scent of whiskey and tobacco were strong. Braid still in his hand, he ran his fingertips along the top of her head with the other.

"I know your keen on my boy," he told her. "But a girl like you… You're on your way to becoming a woman, you're gonna need a man who can keep up with you." He plucked at her hair.

Pulling back slightly, he revealed a tiny leaf that had fallen in her hair, grinning when he saw the unbridled fury in her eyes.

"There you go. Right as rain." Looking at her full mouth, he ran the leaf along her jaw. "Have fun with my boy," he said hearing Jack's footsteps. "And remember what I told you."

Releasing her braid, he stepped back, putting distance between them. By the time Jack appeared again, Jackson David had taken up his usual post.

"Hey," he called when they bounded down the steps.

Both Gabrielle and Jack turned around. "Yes, sir?" Jack asked.

Jackson David looked at Gabrielle and kissed the leaf in his hands. "Have fun."

Shaken, Gabrielle snapped her head away and latched onto Jack's hand, all but running to freedom.

Rounding the corner, Jack latched onto Gabrielle's arm and swung her around to face him. "What did he do, Brie?"

Only a few months her senior, Jack was already as tall as his father, and quite fit, having taken up boxing with her cousin Curtis. Add in those dirty blonde curls which grew out of his forced crew cut, and he was quite the looker.

Tilting her head back, she looked him in the eye and forced a smile. "Nothing. Let's go."

If it wasn't for her and Curt, he would be forced to remain in that house, only coming up for air during school and the occasional cigarette run.

"Tell me what he did." When she shook her head and looked away, he closed the distance between them.

She flinched when he touched her chin.

"Jesus, tell me what he did! Did he—did he touch you?" he whispered fiercely, amber eyes already burning with the strength of a thousand suns.

Staring into his face Gabrielle saw more than met the eye. She saw a boy on his way to manhood, a boy who had just healed from a fractured jaw. Telling him what his father had done would only cause an argument, one that could put an end to their friendship and Jack's freedom altogether.

"Nothing happened."

Jack looked at her through lidded eyes. "You are such a shitty liar."

"Well, if I'm such a shitting liar, how did you fall for my story about the beach and the movies?" She asked with her hands on her hips.

Jack snorted. "Please, Brie," he said repositioning the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. "Just like most people in poker, you have a tell. I always know where you're lying outta yo ass."

"What?!" She screeched. "You do not."

He merely shrugged his shoulders and walked past her, calling over his shoulder, "You're a storyteller, I'll give you that, but you forgot one thing."

"And what's that, Joker?" She snapped, hands on her hips.

Jack stopped walking. Peering over his shoulder, he gave her a smile that took her breath away. "That I'm hearing every word you say, reading over every line." His eyes sparkled. "Can't fool a man who shares the same story as you."

So a trip to the beach and movies weren't planned, that is to say, it wasn't her entire family that went along, rather just her, Jack, Curtis and his current girlfriend, and her cousin Reginald. And it had been fun until the shit hit the fan. Reginald, famous for starting fights but never finishing them, had roused another neighborhood crew, leaving Jack and Curtis to take his place in a fight. A fight that had occurred _after_ the movie, making the group miss their bus home, and causing Jack to be late for his promised curfew.

Unable to sleep, Gabrielle had snuck out of the house and walked two blocks over to check up on Jack. It was the dumbest thing, not just because his father was a violent, creepy ass pedophile, but also because they lived in a rough neighborhood. Eyeing the small crew down the block, she said an awkward prayer, thankful that they were Santana Bloc and not Piru's, which meant they were affiliated with her neighborhood and not another gang getting ready to make war.

Gnawing at her lower lip, she gripped the iron gate in her hand. Every lick of good sense she had told her to turn back, however, her feet could only go in one direction: toward Jack.

"What up, B?"

Jumping a foot in the air, Gabrielle whirled around. Curtis stood not too far behind, dressed in his usual flair: black jeans, shirt, baseball cap, and converse, the laces of his shoes a bright blue, the only sign of the gang he represented.

"Curtis!" She whisper-shouted. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doin'?" He drawled. "What is yo ass doin' out here?"

Both cousins stared at one another until understanding flashed in their eyes. "Is that why your crew is down the street, you're checking up on Jack?"

Curtis gave a curt nod. "Yea gotta look out for my boy. Make sure that bitch ass dad of his doesn't start no shit."

Gabrielle eyed the quiet house. "Nothing happened?"

"Naw. After we dropped you off, we shook punk ass, Reggie, dropped my girl Nikki at home, then headed back to J's. Dad was bitchin' like usual, nothin' bad." He broke off, eyeing his boys down the street. "Thought somethin' might start up, but it's been quiet."

Curtis may have been his best friend, by Gabrielle knew better. Quiet could either mean that Jack's dad had gotten drunk and passed out before beating him, which was rare, or that his father had gotten to him and the damage had been severe. So severe that Jack had no time to fight back or make a sound.

"Ey," he said, nudging her shoulder. "C'mon, you know better than to be out here. Let me take you home. I'll look out for—"

"We gotta bounce," Cedric interrupted, running up to them. "Pirus showed up at Turtle's place and set it off. We goin' ride out, you comin?" It was a rhetorical question.

Heated, Curtis lifted up his shirt, cocking back his pistol. "I'm down," he told him. Walking backward, he looked at Brie. "Take yo ass home, B. I mean it."

"C'mon, nigga, we gotta catch them fools."

Gabrielle watched them run down the block and hop into a lowrider. "Home, B!" Curtis shouted when they drove past, cutting the corner with the lights off.

Shit. "Shit!"

Whirling back around, she looked at the house. Something was off, something was wrong. She could feel it in her gut.

Promising to run home as soon as she saw he was ok, she stepped inside the gate. Carefully she made her way around the side of the house, guided by the faint glow of the streetlights. Hearing the sound of the television she crept to the window and peeked inside. Due to the light of the TV, she could make out Jackson David passed out on the recliner, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, just barely in his grasp as it dangled above the floor.

Licking her lips, she darted over to the end of the house, to last window that was at Jack's room.

The window was halfway open, a no-no for this neighborhood.

"Jack?" she whispered, switching on her flashlight.

Reaching out she made to open the window higher and froze when she saw bloody fingerprints.

"Jack!" she whisper-shouted.

Every second of silence stretched on like an eternity.

Eyes filling with tears, she threw caution to the wind and climbed in through the window. Tumbling inside, she tried to right herself but slipped in something sticky. Mouth open in a silent scream, she stared at the blood that was now on her hands and jeans.

Choking on her tears, she crawled around Jack's bedroom. "Jack!" She whispered again, looking under his bed and becoming frantic. "Jack!"

Flashlight shaking in her grasp, she took her search to the floor, following the crimson trail.

It went out the bedroom door.

Slowly she turned the knob and peered outside, mindful of turning her flashlight off at the last minute. Sniffling, she let her hands be her guide, and felt along the floor, feeling for the sticky trail.

Every inch felt like a mile. Every second was a river of tears, the sinking feeling increasing in her stomach. Working her way down the hall, she heard a steady drip of the faucet.

Moonlight filtered in through a high bathroom window, causing the floor and the mirror to gleam. Still on her hands and knees, Gabrielle made her way straight to the bathtub. Pausing she looked over her shoulder, still hearing the sound of the television.

Turning back, she covered the flashlight with her hand as she flicked it on, needing more light but not wanting to get caught. Spacing out her fingers, small rays of light shot forth. Gathering her courage, she said a prayer that the tub was empty, that he wasn't inside. That he wasn't dead. Summoning her courage, she rose up and peered inside the tub.

The air left her lungs, the flashlight slipping from her grasp and clattering to the floor.

The light wasn't necessary, there was no way she would ever forget what she had seen. Jack was on his side, blood everywhere, on his clothes, in his hair, his face… Dear God, his face! Swollen and inflamed, cut and sewn together.

With a trembling hand, she reached out and touched his swollen cheek. The second she felt the thread that tied his torn cheek together she snapped her hand back, screaming into her palm.

Shaking from head to toe, she reached for him again. He was cold. So cold. Fingers under his nostrils she prayed to God to feel his breath.

"Oh thank God!" she cried, to discover him breathing. "J-just stay there Jack, I'm gonna get help. I—" Muffled groaning echoed throughout the house.

Hearing the squeak of the recliner, she snatched up her flashlight and shut it off. Pushing herself off the floor, she moved to the door, standing behind it, and not a moment too soon as Jackson David appeared.

Back pressed into the wall, Gabrielle covered her mouth with her hand, forcing herself to remain calm, struggling to draw in a decent breath.

Light flooded the tiny bathroom.

Blinking repeatedly, she finally found her focused and wished she hadn't. Though she hid behind the door, she could still peek out from around the edge, and she saw Jack perfectly. Tears ran down her face.

"Look at you now, you little shit!" Jackson David barked, making her jump.

"I told you," he said, taking a long swig of whiskey. "I told you to watch. That. Mouth! But you don't listen—you never listen. And look what happened."

For minute Jackson David was quiet, staring down at his son with an unreadable expression.

"Bet you won't tell me to leave that bitch of yours alone again, will you?"

So surprised was she by his words that she couldn't quiet her sharp intake of breath.

Whiskey sloshed in the bottle. The heel of his boots thudded along the floor. Hand pressed hard against her mouth, she struggled to maintain her composure, not knowing what to do if he caught her if he—the door moved and she was face to chest with her worst nightmare.

Drunk, Jackson David blinked hard, not sure if he was really seeing her.

He took a step forward, and she flinched away. "What are you doing here, girl?"

Too scared, too shocked to answer, Gabrielle remained silent.

"I said, what are you doing here?"

Finally, she found her voice. "J-jack is hurt. He needs to go to a h-hospital."

Liquid sloshed in the bottle as Jackson David waved a dismissive hand to his son. "He don't need no hospital. He's fine. Just tired is all."

Gabrielle shook her head vehemently. "No. He needs a doctor."

Arching a brow, he took a long swig of whiskey. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he asked, "Did you really come all this way just to see my boy?"

"What?"

"You took your hair down," he said ignoring her question.

Having washed her hair before bed, she had set about drying it but had given up when she couldn't focus. And after tossing and turning, she had merely thrown on her clothes, not caring about her hair. But now it was the main subject of the night. And so beautifully did her thick coiled tresses frame her face and body, falling just past her breasts.

Clutching the flashlight in a death grip, Gabrielle forced herself to meet and hold his gaze. "My grandmother knows I'm here, she'll come if I'm not back soon."

Always the women in the neighborhood said father and son shared the same smile, but not to her. Jack's was filled with so much happiness it made her spirit take flight. As for his fathers… his father's smile made her skin crawl.

"Why you lyin' to me?"

"I'm not lying."

"You think I don't know my boy sneaks off and goes to your place at night?" He said inching closer. "That sometimes you come sneaking around here?" He took another swallow. "Looks to me like you been reflectin' on my words and are tired of that big mouthed little boy of mine."

"Leave me alone," she commanded, voice barely above a whisper.

"'Leave you alone?'" He repeated. "That's the last thing I'm going to do with you—asdfds!" Thinking fast, Gabrielle had pushed off the wall and slammed into him, surprise working to her advantage and allowing him to be thrown off balance, falling to the ground, the whiskey bottle shattering on the floor.

Fear had her retracing her steps, running out of the bathroom with the intent to turn right, yet she slipped in the blood. Catching herself at the last minute, she saw Jackson David rise up and broke left, barely escaping his clutches. Sprinting down the hall, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

Flying into the living room, she jumped over broken furniture, heading straight for the door. Hands clasping around the knob, she turned it, unable to yank it open as the door was locked. Desperate for escape, she made to unlock the door and felt her heart drop. Never had she seen so many locks on one door. Was it to keep people out, or to keep Jack in?

Undoing the deadbolt, she reached for the next, but strong arms wrapped around her waist.

"Think you can just waltz up in my house, shake your little ass, and go?!" He barked, dragging her back down the hall.

"Stop!" She screamed. "S-stop! Please!"

Gabrielle clawed at his hands with one hand, smacking it with the flashlight in the other. Pulling her head forward, she snapped it back just like Curtis had taught her too. "Son of a bitch!" He roared, his hold slackening.

Dropping her body weight, she threw him off balance. She twisted in his hold, breaking free. Whirling around, she slammed her heavy duty, metal flashlight against his head.

Jackson David crumpled at her feet.

The breath went out of her in a whoosh. Standing above him, she looked at him with wide eyes, then to her flashlight. Blood stained the metal.

Something told her to kick him, to check and see if he was alive. Had he been a good man she would have done so. Instead, she raced back down the hall.

"Jack!" she shouted at the top of her lungs when she entered the bathroom. Having heard her earlier screams, he had managed to open his eyes. Languidly he turned his head to look at her.

"Come on, Jack," she said, reaching for him. Lifting his arm, she wrapped it around her shoulders. "We need to get out of here, Jack. Now. Come on, you can do it—I know it hurts."

"B-b-bb—reee," he babbled trying to speak her name, blood, and saliva flowing from his mouth and scars.

"Don't speak, just move, Jack. Come on." Using all her strength she pulled his body of the tub, slamming her side into the counter when his full weight fell on her.

Grunting, she pushed away and took the first shaking steps toward freedom. "That's—small steps, Joker. Come on."

Exiting the bathroom, she looked to the living room, seeing Jackson David's booted feet still on the floor.

Together she and Jack stumbled to his bedroom and toward the open window. "I'm going to push you out first—Aaaahhh!"

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, Jackson David pulled her back. The second her support was gone, Jack fell to the floor.

"Let me go!" She screamed.

Jackson David threw her on his son's bed, the force making her bounce, breath leaving her as a new kind of fear took hold.

Before she could roll off the bed he grabbed her leg, pulling her down.

"No—stop! P-please, stop!" She begged, smacking at his hands.

Rearing back, he backhanded her across the face.

Stars danced before her eyes.

Head pounding, she tried to push back the fog that crept over her mind. "S-stop," she pleaded, her mouth forming the words yet no sound emerging…

… … …

Back in the present, Jack watched with raging eyes as Gabrielle slackened in his arms. "Please stop," she chanted over and over. "Please stop."

"No, no, no, Brie, you stay with me," he shouted, smacking her face in hopes of pulling her from her trance.

"Remember what happened?" He shouted into her face, rocking her back and forth. "He didn't do it, Brie. The fuckin' bastard tried, but he didn't do it."

… … …

The fog lifted when Jackson David tugged on her jeans. Snapping to attention, Gabrielle's fight increased tenfold. Moving back on her elbows, she scooted on her butt away from him, managing to position the soles of her shoes on his thighs. Pushing off, she brought her legs back and surged forward, kicking him dead in the face.

Never had she felt such satisfaction than in that moment when she heard bone crush.

Jackson David flew back with a scream of his own. Not letting up, she kicked him again, this time clipping his chin, dropping him.

Never had she understood her cousin and his boys when they said they kept kicking when someone went down in a fight. It always felt like an overkill. Now she knew why they did it: so the person never moved again.

Coming off the bed, Gabrielle kicked him hard in the groin. When his hands flew to his privates, body tensing up, she kicked him once more in the face. "You son of a bitch!" She screamed at him. "How many times did you beat him, huh?! Once a day?" She kicked in the stomach. "Twice a day?" Kicked him at the base of his spine.

Fast as lighting Jackson David caught her next kick, and twisted her foot, pulling her down on the floor.

With a roar he flung her to her stomach, holding her down his hand on her neck, knee pressing into her back.

"Get off of me!" She shouted, trying to buck him off her.

"Talk that shit now, girl," He bit back, throwing her shirt up and reaching for the back of her jeans. "Say something now."

"Fuck you!"

"Oh, someone's gonna fucked tonight and it—" the barrel of a Glock pressed against his temple.

Feeling him freeze, Gabrielle wasted no time and slithered out from under him, kicked off the floor and spun around.

Moonlight struck Jack, his amber eyes glowing red-orange, face covered in blood. He wasn't shaky like before, his back straight, hand steady, finger on the trigger. Rage flowed from him, yet unlike his father, his was a quiet rage, fueled by the desire of retribution.

"Gonna kill me, son? After everything, I did for you?"

"Jack…" Gabrielle whispered watching as that silent fury came off him in waves.

"You ain't never fired that thing in your life," Jackson David spat. "You ain't gon' do it now."

How could he provoke him further, did he not see the rage in his son's eyes?

"Go on, do it then, boy. Shoot your father. Kill a man in his own home."

Jack tilted his head to the side. He talked slowly, steadily so as to be understood. "Y-you're not a m-man, you're a m-monster."

There was no regret when he pulled the trigger.

 **xXx**

"That's right, Brie," Jack said, covered in a sheen of sweat, holding onto her while she cried silently. He knew what she saw in her mind: blood, brain, skull fragments. Knew she heard the lingering echo of that gunshot.

"Let it out. Let it out, but don't you slip away—don't you fuckin' slip away from me, you understand?"

Ever so slowly her screams died down, crying coming to a halt. Bit by bit her body began to lose its tension and relax in his hold. Spent, she closed her eyes, chest rising and falling as she fell into a deep asleep.

Monitoring her pulse with his fingers, he eyed the clock on the wall: 4AM.

Breathing a sigh of relief Jack thanked every higher power he could think of that his hunch had paid off.

Getting out of bed, he left the room, returning with a clean basin of cool water. With a care that could not be feigned, he wiped the sweat from her brow, moving lower to her neck. Unable to help himself, he kissed her forehead, thumb brushing along the apple of her cheeks.

 _Looking at her now I wonder if this is going to repeat, our ill-fated events. Granted this only the third time, I don't want a fourth. Even if she and I were both cats with 9 lives, I wouldn't want a fourth meeting like this._

And yet… He brushed his thumb along her cheek a second, third, fourth time.

 _Even though I know I should, I won't leave her side. I'm a threat to her safety and I can't pull myself away. I've tried to stay away, for five years I stayed away. Though distance separated us, she was always there, in the corners of my mind, leaking into my heart at every opportunity._

 _But I shouldn't be surprised._

 _It's hard staying away from the one you want most, especially when that person is your light in the dark._

* * *

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review.


	6. Favors & Leverage

**Author's Note:** Hey! Sorry for the lack of updates. A lot of things came up and time got the best of me. To all those still following, thank you so much. I'm introducing a new character, Diego, for his face you can envision Diego Luna. Enjoy!

* * *

 **Favors & Leverage**

Early morning sunlight struck the tinted window, bathing the bedroom in smokey gray light.

Propped up on a stool beside the bed, Jack watched Gabrielle while she slept. Clicking and un-clicking the button for the mighty Power Ranger flashlight, he chewed a piece of gum, still on red alert despite the calm that had washed over them after her night terrors.

Having tired herself out, she had drifted off into a deep sleep. Only once had her temperature risen during the night, going down when he wiped her brow allowing her to sleep once more.

Clicking the switch faster now, he began to bounce his knee.

 _What now?_ He asked himself. What did he do with her now? Part of him, the logical half, said to take her to nearest hospital so that they could flush her system of any remaining toxins, check her from head to toe, and begin her path to healing. Yet, he was fighting it. To the death.

Reasoning with himself, he declared that the doctors wouldn't have the faintest idea what to do to heal her, which was partially true. Scarecrow's fear toxin was a fearsome thing to behold, changing nearly every time he used it, becoming stronger, more potent. The quest to find the cure had drawn the aid of doctors around the globe, all of them brilliant and passionate in their endeavor, working unceasingly. Despite their best efforts, they had no genetic pattern for the toxin itself. Even with the victims, all traces of the toxin vanished from their systems. So where did that leave them? Treating the barest of systems ranging from fevers, colds, and chills, in other words, the fuckin' common cold.

Dancing over her form with eyes that failed to mask his sorrow, he envisioned the result of option one, and saw only a series of IV's and doctors, pushing and prodding, giving her every antidote known to man.

He couldn't do it. Sighing deeply, he raked back his acid green waves and looked aimlessly out the window.

So what was the other option, the irrational part? To keep her here, safe and out of sight until she healed completely.

But to do so… "Don't even think it, man."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed at them with his hand, fighting the urge to pluck them out. It would never work; they had grown up together, he knew her like the back of his hand and was sure she knew him the same way. If he kept her here, it would only be a matter of time before she learned of his secret, saw beneath the war paint and the menacing voice, looked into his eyes and saw him, the real him, saw Jackson David.

Gabrielle's gentle snoring broke suddenly.

The flashlight clattered to the ground as he soared to his feet, eyes crossing over her face, searching for the slightest sign of discomfort. Having accidentally swallowed his gum, he bit down on his scars, fingers twitching with the need to help but unsure of what to do. Sure he had served in the military, he knew how to administer emergency medical aid, to dress wounds. However, her wounds were beyond his level of skill. And while just a few moments ago he had seen the light, darkness threatened to blot it out once more.

She shifted in her sleep, whimpering at the pain. No doubt her body was sore, muscles weak and heavy. Cringing he watched as she shifted again, face twisting into a grimace. Leaning down he pressed his hand against her brow, she didn't have a fever. Reaching to monitor her pulse next, he found himself freezing when she inhaled sharply.

Wide-eyed he looked at her now, swearing to himself that she would open her eyes at any moment. She didn't. Instead, she breathed in deeply once more, losing some of the tension in her face. _Was she…?_ Unable to believe where his thoughts were headed, at the conclusion he was jumping to, he forced himself to breathe, told his heart to get its shit together, and… leaned in deeper.

He hadn't slept a wink, had been in the process of preparing for a shower when Eric had called for him. Gabrielle's blood stained his clothing still, the scent of copper and old sweat heavy on his person, and yet… Her face tilted slightly, her nose rising… She breathed him in again, drawing his scent deep into her lungs where it registered in her subconscious. "…Jack?"

Surprised, he nearly fell on top of her.

Had she, did she really say his—"Jack?" She called again, making him frown while his heart ascended. She sounded so frail.

Just like last night when her suffering was at it's most, he realized he didn't give a shit if she discovered the truth. With that thought in mind, he cupped her cheek, thumb caressing her skin. "I'm here, Brie," he answered gruffly.

Damn it all to hell, there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

The bed dipped as he settled in beside her. Instinctively she drew near to him, finding comfort in his heat and…his arms. "I'm here," he said once more.

"H-hosp…?"

"Yeah," he lied. "You're still at the hospital. Try and get some rest, alright?"

When her brow had cleared, and her breaths became deep and even once again, he thought she had drifted to sleep, and so her words caught him off guard. "Jack?" She called again.

He was brushing at her short mop of curls now. "Yes?"

"P-promise me…" Her voice was growing faint, words slurring as sleep threatened to take hold. "…t-that you'll… stay w-with me."

Swiftly he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against her own. Desire raced through him at her words. More than that, the fierce need to protect her rose within him. Blinded him. Making him helpless to do anything but agree.

This time when he opened his eyes, flames licked her skin. "I promise."

But she was already asleep, resting peacefully, deeply unaware of what she had asked, and the extent of what he would do to keep his word.

 _Be rational. Be rational. Be. Rational._

Staring at her, he mentally went over his contact list, deciding on who to call for aid. When a name came to mind, he kissed the top of her head, and thought it killed him, moved away from her.

Heading for his desk, he snatched up his cell phone.

A man with a heavy Spanish accent picked up. "Hola?"

"Diego? It's Jack." He looked to Gabrielle. "I need a favor."

* * *

Two Days Later

Sterile floors gleamed as monitors beeped out a steady rhythm. In the background were the squeak of sneakers, muted voices of the hospital staff, and the raspy murmurers of the officers that surrounded her.

Laying in the hospital bed with IV's strung along every inch of her arms, Gabrielle looked to Detective Gordon.

"Before I begin," he said silencing the others in the room, "I want to offer my deepest apologies for all that has occurred."

Standing beside the hospital bed, he looked down at Gabrielle with saddened eyes. "Believe me," he continued. "I had no idea of the Riddler's infiltration. I had my men do multiple background checks on all the officers guarding you." He paused becoming, if possible, more crestfallen. "Somehow he managed to slip through the cracks. I'm so very sorry."

In no time at all Gabrielle became a prime fixture at Gotham City Hospital as the staff did their best to guide her through detox. Days had passed and they were still flushing Scarecrow's Fear Toxin from her system. It was nothing short of a miracle—at least that's what everyone was saying. On record, she would be the first, the only, to survive without severe complications.

Staring into Gordon's eyes, she gifted him with a small smile. "It's alright, really." Gordon had to stop himself from cringing, her voice was so small.

"No one knew this would happen," she told him. "We were all so focused on the Joker that no one thought of the possibility of another criminal intervening." Her smile dipped. "What happened is not your fault, and I don't blame you in any way."

Ok, that last bit was a lie. After the Joker infiltrating the Honor Guard a couple of months back, she expected Gotham PD to be on High Alert. Sadly, they were not. And while she could be angry, had every right to be, she knew that truly it wasn't Gordon's fault, that corruption ran deep in Gotham. So for that reason, she exercised forgiveness and not blame.

Visibly some of the tension left his shoulders at her words. "Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me."

Taking a small step forward, he briefly let his eyes wander over the series of monitors and IV's before saying, "Now, I know this is will be difficult, but try to remember all that happened. Anything you can, no matter how small."

Fisting the thin scratchy hospital blanket in her hands, she gnawed at her lower lip. Her mind was still foggy whenever she thought of the incident. Yet, what she did remember was, "I thought I was in the clear," she told him. "I had just s-spoken with my agent—oh God, how is he?"

"Mr. Stefano? He's fine."

Nodding her head, she licked her chapped lips. "Here, have some water," he offered, reaching for her cup.

"Thank you." The water was made by the gods, so cool going down.

Once she had her fill, she went on. "Lee—no, Edward," she corrected, ignoring the sound of pens rapping against paper as the officers took their notes, "received a call on the walkie-talkie." Emerald eyes flashed beautifully in her mind; he had her completely fooled. "I thought he was taking me to safety…" Her bottom lip trembled. "He shot the officers that were standing guard."

"I was so shocked by what happened—I didn't know I reached for my own gun. He took it from me," she reported bitterly. "And then he kicked me in the elevator!"

Face in a grim line, Gordon listened to her story. The footage of the event had been hacked, all they had were video clips recorded from the patrons, and what remained of the tv crews. All of it was jumbled, painting no clear picture of the criminal masterminds.

"If you need to stop, that's fine," Gordon told her. "I don't want you to get worked up."

"No, it's fine. I want to help."

He smiled. "Alright. Go on."

Gabrielle then explained how Scarecrow had tampered with the security system and spoke to them through the speaker in the elevator. The officer's faces became stone when she recanted about the toxin and being forced to inhale it with the Riddler.

"Did he succumb to any side effects?" Detective Diego asked.

Brow furrowed, she replayed the event in her mind. "I don't think so… He was—right before I started to feel the full effect's he was there, speaking normally." She gnawed her lip further. "I don't think he would have been able to speak, at least not coherently if he had ingested the toxin."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Gordon inquired, "Now when the Joker arrived, what happened?"

Her face fell. that's where her memory was the fuzziest. She could recall the Joker arriving, knew the men had drawn lines. "They spoke briefly. The Scarecrow sounded upset."

"Upset?" Detective Richmond repeated dryly.

Gabrielle clutched the blanket harder. "Yes, upset. The Joker had intervened, at least that's what it sounded—felt like. I can't… I can't exactly recall."

"Just do your best," Gordon urged.

Gabrielle found strength in the kindness of his eyes and looked at him when she said, "I do remember something about Arkham. The Scarecrow said the Joker took his sight, and because of that, he would take the only thing the Joker could see."

"What was that?" Diego inquired.

She turned pale. "Me," she whispered. "Scarecrow was referring to…me"

"And can you recall anything at all when you were held captive by him?"

Gabrielle turned confused eyes to Richmond. "What? I was never held captive—he…" She trailed off. Remembering what Jack had told her she said, "He tried to take me, but the cops came in time and he let me go."

The detectives fell silent.

She searched their faces. "What's wrong?"

Sharing a glance with the others, Gordon came in closer. Reaching out he awkwardly patted her hand before encasing it in his firm hold. His steel blue eyes met and held hers. "Gabrielle," he began gently, "the officers did not reach you in time." She gasped in shock. "We did our best but were unable to retrieve you, and believe you me, we searched high and low for any trace of you." He paused, searching for the right words to say. "In all, you were missing for nearly 36 hours, during which we believe you were held captive by the Joker."

"But that can't be!" She argued.

"No. No!" She said shrugging off Gordon's hand. "I was drugged yes, but the Joker never—I was here. I was here!"

Her heart monitor started beeping.

"Calm down," Gordon ushered.

"Should I get the doctor?" One of the detectives offered.

"Yes, go—" The door flew open.

"Alright, what's going here?" The doctor asked, immediately going to the monitors.

"They say I've been held captive by the Joker!" Gabrielle screeched hysterically.

The Doctor rose his brows. Briefly, he glanced at the detectives before looking back to Gabrielle. "That's very interesting," he spoke softly, rolling his R's.

Turning back to the machines, he checked the monitors once more and said, "Considering you've been here since the incident, that would be nothing more than a bad dream, yes?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell them!" She said turning to the detectives with a frown.

Richmond spoke up. "Now, wait a minute—"

"I think it would be in my patient's best interest if you would conclude your meeting, detectives, thank you."

"Where do you get off thinking that you can put an end to our interview?"

The doctor didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Miss Danis has endeared severe duress and forced to induce a deadly toxin. What she needs is medicine, care, and," he stressed, "peace and quiet. Whatever discussion you're having is reversing her progress and giving her heart palpations and sending her blood pressure soaring." He looked each detective in the eye. "Again, it would be best if you waited until she is in better health. Thank you."

Richmond made to argue but Gordon waved him off. Issuing his apologies, he wished Gabrielle well and left with the other detectives, leaving two guards stationed outside the doors.

"Thanks," Gabrielle whispered when they had left.

"Don't mention it," he sang, reaching for her medical chart and peering over the information.

Wringing her hands, she looked the doctor over. He was young, mid-thirties at the most and boyishly attractive with wavy dark brown hair, tanned skin, brown eyes, and a goatee.

Feeling her eyes on him, he peeked at her over the medical chart. "Yes, señorita?"

She adverted her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr…?" She looked back, eyes roaming over his id badge.

"Simeone," he answered. "Alexander Diego Simeone." He smiled, his brown eyes filling with kindness. "But you may call me Diego."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he tilted his head to the side, smile still in place. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

Gabrielle eyed him wearily. He didn't have the same brash demeanor as the detectives. If anything he seemed upbeat and friendly, like he would listen to what she had to say and not shoot her down and make her feel crazy. Though just because he had a friendly face didn't mean he was friendly, make that trustworthy. After all, Edward had the same appeal.

"Whoah, what did I do to deserve such an evil look!" He exclaimed holding a hand over his heart and backing up. "Did I…?" He brought his brows together looking at once boyish and apologetic. "Did you by any chance figure out it was me who took your pudding cup last evening? You were asleep, and it was cherry flavored. I didn't think you would want it…" His smile grew when she laughed at his joke.

"Ah, that's much better." He looked back at her chart. "Laughter is good for the soul, yes?"

Still chuckling she agreed. "Yes. Thank you, Diego."

"You're welcome señorita."

"Now," he stressed putting her chart back and taking a seat beside the bed, "are you going to tell me what they said that bothered you?"

Thinking it over she concluded the information wouldn't hurt, besides, she had to know the truth.

"Dr. Simeone…"

"…Diego…"

"Diego," she corrected. "Diego, how… Exactly how long have I been here? I thought it was since the incident, but Gordon said that I was held… How long?" She asked again.

Resting his right ankle on his left knee, Diego considered her question. Now, if he did the math, the incident itself occurred just over seventy-two hours ago. Jack, his brother in arms, had requested his services after she had been in his care from anywhere between 18-24 hours. Add in a four-hour flight from Mexico to Gotham, plus the time spent in order to fix his position at Gotham Hospital to become her primary physician, and Gabrielle was every bit Jack's captive like Gordon had stated.

"After the incident, and with the mayhem that transpired, it took the paramedics some time to get to you—to get to anyone. However, you can rest assured that you were recovered at the library and not in the Joker's hideout. You must remember that the gas," he explained, "was very toxic. It wasn't released solely in the library but also out on the street. A few of the paramedics thought the air had cleared, but the fumes still lingered. It's their records we have to go by and trust me when I say that many of the times and dates are all over the place."

"But I was in the E.R. when they brought you in, and I never forget a date. Unfortunately, before I could correct the forms, the detectives had already requested their copies. It's been a nightmare trying to update them and for that, I sincerely apologize."

Relief flooded her at his words.

 _Thank God_ , her mind whispered. She didn't even want to think about what would have happened had Gordon's words been true.

"Thank you," she told him, "for clarifying."

"De nada."

She smiled at his accent. "Where are you from?"

"Mexico City."

"Aw, how nice. I've always wanted to go. I've only seen pictures, but it looks beautiful—ow!"

"Here, let me help you," he offered when she tried to sit up.

"Is that better?" He asked when he adjusted the bed and repositioned her pillow.

She nodded. "Yes. Much better now, thank you."

"What do you say I get us two—make that three jello cups, and I tell you everything about my homeland? It will help to relax you," he offered. "Or, you could push this button here, and get a much-needed shot of morphine to help you sleep."

The last thing she wanted was to have another nightmare. "I'll take the jello."

His smile was dazzling. "Smart choice."

"I'll only be a moment," he called as he closed the door behind him.

Once the door clicked shut Diego turned to the two officers standing guard. Gavin 'Rocky' Harris, and Stuart 'Bullwinkle' Thompson stood tall at the door, just two more favors that Jack had called in.

"I'll be back in a bit," Diego told them. "The only nurse on call to check on her is señora Lanham; I've studied her, she's punctual, checks every thirty minutes. If anyone else arrives who isn't on mine or Jack's list… kill them."

… … …

The door opened 15 minutes later and Gabrielle found herself staring into golden irises.

"Curtis…"

"Hey, B," he greeted softly.

Despite Curtis' steadfast presence, and endless cries of apology, she was still furious with him. Not only had she confided in Jack about her fears of the Joker, but her cousin as well. Laughing, he had tipped back his head, a smile taking up all his face as he told her, _'B, you don't gotta worry about that the Joker. Trust me, that clown is a straight up fool.' A fool for you_. Trusting, she had accepted his words. Now she regretted ever having done so.

"What happened," she bit out tartly, eyes skimming over the cut at his temple and bruised jaw, "the Joker slap you around when you failed to bring me to him?"

Clenching his fist, Curtis cursed his best friend for the hundredth time that day.

Before the incident, Curtis and Gabrielle were close, each other's favorite cousin and good friends. Now after what occurred, and the fact that that bastard, Jack, had remained silent, Curtis was forced to take all the blame, all her wrath, and distrust.

Ignoring her harsh words, he placed the bouquet of flowers he had on the table.

Taking a seat in the chair, he bit back a groan as his muscles were still stiff from being chained to that damn radiator.

Silence hung heavy between them.

Finally, he spoke, "B, you gotta listen to me, I never thought this would happen."

In all honesty, he didn't. The original plan was for Gabrielle to finish her book signing, return to the room and find it filled with purple and green flowers of every shade and variety. While that too could have been scary, it wouldn't have led to her nearly getting killed, and that's why Curtis had allowed Jack to go on with his plan.

Funny how shit just blows up in your face.

"Never thought this would happen," she repeated as though she heard him incorrectly. Pressing her back deeper into the pillows, she gripped the thin sterile blanket and stared out the window eyeing the buildings in the distance.

Fidgeting and uncomfortable with her silence, Curtis leaned forward, taking the sharp burn in his spine and resting his elbows on his jean-clad knees. "I mean it, B-"

"I trusted you, Curtis." Her statement had his mouth slamming shut.

"Really," she said turning her head to face him. "I did." Swallowing hard, she licked her lips before saying, "All my life we've had each other's back, looking out for one another. I've never approved of the life you wanted to live, of you and your "boys," but I accepted it because I accepted you. I never wanted you hurt, or beaten, or dead…"

"And I never wanted that for you. God, Gabrielle, just hear me out—"

"Hear you out!?" She shouted. "Why would I want to hear you out when your part of the cause?" Her look of pain damn near pulled him under. "I told you how I felt about him, and you… All this time you've been working for him, knowing what he was going to do to me, what he wanted to do—"

Curtis flew up from his chair, the force causing it to fall over. Gasping, Gabrielle pulled back afraid of him. That… That killed him.

Tears stinging his eyes, he shook his head, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. "Was I working with him? Yes. I was. And I know it was wrong, but you don't know how or why—Look, you're the only one other than Helen whose watched over me. If you think that I would willingly put you in danger, that I would let someone hurt you, then that shits on you, B. Those feelings, all of that mess is on you.

"I would never let something happen to you. I've been here day and night looking out for you, helping you... I would never-" Pausing he turned his head away, letting out a shaky breath.

"Me and the Joker," he said, "that shit is done. You don't have to worry about him using me to get to you, or anything. I'm done." He looked at her. "I'm out, B."

"W-wait Curt, what do you mean 'out'?" It was common knowledge that the Joker went through henchmen like it was nothing. Was he planning to kill Curtis or let him go?

"What do you mean?"

He waved her words away, walking to the door.

"Curt!" She called, sitting up straighter. "Where are you—what do you mean? Is he after you?"

Standing with his hand on the knob, Curtis looked back, giving her a small smile. "Be easy, B. Love you."

The door closed on the scream of his name.

Outside in the hall, Diego glared at Curtis. "Just in and out, right?!"

Forcing a smile on his face, Diego ducked inside the room, jello cups in hand, muttering about the lack of care Americans had for the sick.

Cursing the man under his breath, Curtis rested his back against the door.

"I'm sure if you just give her some time..."

"I didn't ask, Rocky," Curtis snapped.

Rubbing his jaw, he shook his head and sighed. "Look, I'm tellin' you both right now," he began speaking to the two guards. "I don't give a shit that you're Jack's men, and you're all hoo-rah, fucked up brothers in arms, and shit, if anything happens to her, I will put my foot so far up your ass you'll—"

"Curt, what's going on?"

Having been given the all clear from Diego that the detectives had taken their leave, Jack made his way over. Forever in hiding, he hid his hair under another black beanie and dressed plainly in a pair of black slacks, purple Doc Martens, long-sleeved shirt, and a black trench coat. With Biscuit's small form tucked under his arm, he held a large floral bouquet in the other, muscle twitching in his jaw at the sound of Gabrielle's cries.

"What's going on?" Curtis repeated sarcastically. "Nigga, what the fuck do you think is goin' on?!"

Jack didn't dare make the mistake of looking away, to speak as it would only dig his grave deeper. Ever since Gabrielle had been poisoned the men's friendship had been nonexistent. Not only had Curtis stopped speaking to him, but he had moved out, choosing to stay with Benno.

"I told you before, man, I'm sorry."

Curtis barked a laugh. "Look at this nigga here. Sorry?" He said moving until he and Jack stood toe to toe, Biscuit squirming between them. "Naw, man, you're not sorry. If you were sorry, you would go in there and tell her the truth, take this heat off my back and brace the fuckin' flames yo damn self."

Crew or not there were still parts of himself that Jack wasn't willing to share. Gabrielle, his feelings for her, the depth of them, that was off the fucking table.

"Look, Curt, I've apologized for what happened," he stressed, hearing Gabrielle hiccup mid-cry. "I know it's a shitty situation, but I can't-"

"You know why I didn't tell you she was living in Gotham?" Curtis interrupted.

Jack snapped his mouth shut. It had been in the back of his mind, yet he never asked, telling himself the obvious: he didn't want Gabrielle to get hurt.

Lowering his voice so that only Jack could hear, Curtis said, "It's cause you ain't shit, Jack." He looked him up and down, golden-brown eyes giving off sparks. "Ever since we were kids she's been in your corner, taking shots that should have been given to you. Thought you were cool in the beginning, oh, no doubt. You were my boy, had a bit of fight in you. Then you lost it. Lost that fight and your damn mind.

"So no, I didn't tell you about her cause you're not there. Not completely. Hell, man, she looks at you without seeing _you_. Wonder what she would do if she found out who you really are."

"Careful," Jack rasped.

"Or what?" He asked unafraid. "You gonna kill me?"

Jaw clenched, Jack gave no answer.

"So it's like that?"

Rubbing at his chin, Curtis shook his head, through with the conversation. "Rocky, Bullwinkle, watch my cousin." He looked at Jack. "There's a lot of bitch ass niggas out here and I don't want her gettin' caught up."

Rocky and Bullwinkle had the good sense to stare straight at the wall and make no reply.

Unable to let twenty years of friendship go, Jack called out to him one more time. "Wait a minute, Curt, let's talk this through."

Curtis rounded the corner, not once looking back.

"I think if you just give it some time…"

"No one asked, Rocky!"

Shoving the blonde man aside, Jack entered Gabrielle's room to find Diego sitting on the edge of her bed, torn between eating his jello and letting her cry on his shoulder. Catching sight of Jack, Diego motioned to the cherry cup, and mouthed, _"Help me!"_ For all the man's ruthlessness, he couldn't handle a woman's tears.

"What's wrong, Brie?"

At the mention of Jack's voice, Brie snapped her head up. "Oh, Jack!" She cried. "I t-t-think I… I messed up!"

Tossing his large floral arrangement onto the chair, he took Diego's spot on the bed and took her into his arms, careful of the cords and IV's.

"Y-y-you brought Biscuit, too," she sobbed, nuzzling her face against the pup's soft fur.

Jack couldn't hold back his smile. Since Gabrielle's stay in the hospital, he had taken watch over the pup and knew that its presence was exactly what she needed. Only now she needed a shoulder to cry on as well.

"Ssh, ssh, ssh," he hushed when she began to sob harder. "Calm down, calm down."

Lovingly he stroked her hair, waiting until her cries reduced to hiccups. "Now tell me what happened."

Sniffling, she told him all that occurred. "I didn't mean it," she wailed. "I was just angry. I still am, b-b-but I don't want him to go away. Oh my God, what if the Joker kills him!"

"That seems highly unlikely," Diego interjected around a mouthful of his favorite dessert.

Gabrielle and Jack looked at him.

Poised with his spoon in air, he gave an embarrassed chuckle. "You know what? I think I'm going to go…"

"Please do," Jack growled.

Ignoring Jack, Diego smiled at Gabrielle, not exactly trying to hide the fact that he snatched up her jello cup from the tray. "If you need me, just call."

"He's a bit strange for a doctor," Gabrielle confessed when the door closed.

Jack rolled his eyes, she didn't know the half of it!

"Strange or not, he's right. I mean, I don't think the Joker would go after Curtis."

"Even I know you don't believe that," she stated dejectedly. "Curtis is the perfect leverage for the Joker to force my hand."

He knew better to argue with her. Had it been anyone else, Jack would do away with them without so much as a second glance.

"Will you talk to him?" She asked, begging with her beautiful dark eyes.

Inside he groaned. There was no way in hell that Curtis was going to talk to him.

"Please," she begged when he remained silent. "If you talk to him, maybe he'll stay? Or, you can convince him to go back to L.A. with me, where it's safe—"

"What do you mean go to back to L.A. with you?" He interrupted harshly. "You're leaving."

Taken back by his tone she was silent for a moment. "Yes," she answered. "After all that's happened, with grandma, me, the Joker… It would be best for me to leave."

Jack blinked once and saw red.

No. No! She wasn't leaving, not to L.A. Not where he couldn't keep an eye on her.

"You're welcome to come," she told him.

"Actually," she continued reaching for his hand, "I was thinking that maybe you could request a transfer, or teach? I know there won't be many opportunities in L.A., but I'm sure you could find something, anywhere is better than Gotham—what?"

"I'm not leaving," he said harshly. Seeing the disbelief in her eyes, he explained. "I… My job, I can't leave my men behind."

Once more he played on her heart.

Nodding her head in understanding, she lowered her head so he wouldn't see her tears. "How long do you think you'll stay?"

 _Until Scarecrow and the Riddler are dead. Until I run out of knives, gunpowder, and ammunition._ "I'm not sure."

Blinking back her tears, she gave him a shaky smile. "So, that's it? We separate again?"

Jack's eyes bore into her own. "No," he replied. "Not this time. I'll find a way to keep us together."

Though she bore a smile, her eyes were doubtful. "Whatever you say, Joker."

Resting her head on his shoulder, Jack kissed the top of her head. Unknowing she had given him the answer, leverage on how to move her, chain her to his side. And like the bastard he was, he was going to use it.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review.


End file.
